


White Interest

by Arches67



Series: White Interest [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arches67/pseuds/Arches67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the machine pulls out the number of an ex-conman, turned CI for the FBI, the suspects' list seems endless. Who wants Neal Caffrey dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> New collaboration of Yellowstone69 and Arches67, new crossover: Person of Interest and White Collar.
> 
> Regarding timelines, White Collar starts right at the end of season 4, when Peter is in prison; Person of Interest beginning of season 3. The story will be published in chapters for cliffhanger purposes (evil laugh…), but the story is entirely written (so no worries, you will see the end of it).
> 
> We started writing this before seasons 5 (WhC) and 3 (POI) aired on TV, so by the time we were done, the story is now slightly AU… 
> 
> Also, 90% of the story was written before season 5 of White Collar even started, then we got delayed (personal life and all…). So any similarity is purely coincidental. 
> 
> As usual, Arches67 translated the story in English, so please forgive any mistakes.

 

New collaboration of Yellowstone69 and Arches67, new crossover: Person of Interest and White Collar.

Regarding timelines, White Collar starts right at the end of season 4, when Peter is in prison; Person of Interest beginning of season 3. The story will be published in chapters for cliffhanger purposes (evil laugh…), but the story is entirely written (so no worries, you will see the end of it).

We started writing this before seasons 5 (WhC) and 3 (POI) aired on TV, so by the time we were done, the story is now slightly AU…

Also, 90% of the story was written before season 5 of White Collar even started, then we got delayed (personal life and all…). So any similarity is purely coincidental.

As usual, Arches67 translated the story in English, so please forgive any mistakes. Beta'd by KSPretenderFan (thank you!), any mistake left is mine.

* * *

 

_New York, Finch's library, Tuesday morning_

John Reese climbed the stairs to the library with a smooth gait, balancing the two cups he was holding. In the beginning, bringing Finch his tea had just been another way to find out more about his employer. With time, tea, and now donuts, had become a morning ritual.

Bear had heard him and had rushed to greet his master. John juggled with the cups and box to scratch the malinois behind the ears.

"Hey, Bear."

"Good morning, Mr. Reese," said the genius, sitting as usual in front of his computer.

"Good morning, Finch."

John put the donut box far enough from the edge of the table, –making sure Bear wouldn't take advantage and help himself– and watched the wall.

"We have a new number," he said. A new picture was stuck to the cracked glass wall they used as a board.

"We do."

John took his cup and approached the picture and notes that Finch had already put up. He took a gulp of the hot beverage and frowned.

"What's with all the names?"

"Our new number is quite surprising," Finch explained, coming closer to the ex-agent.

"Neal Caffrey, also known as Steve Tabernacle, Nick Halden, George Donnelly, Gary Rydell, George Devore…"

"Aliases? Who needs that many identities?" John had used several identities during his past as an agent. He currently had six different ones, created by Finch. But that many aliases didn't bode well for their owner. "Do we know which one is his real name at least?"

"The most probable one would be Neal Caffrey."

"Probable?"

"Neal Caffrey doesn't exist before his 18th birthday."

"So it is a forged identity."

"I am accessing the US Marshals data base to see if I can find any information, but their new firewall has been greatly improved."

"I'm surprised, Finch; you can't get in?"

"Certainly not; I just need a little bit more time than usual."

"What do we know about this Caffrey?"

"Mr. Caffrey is a conman. His talents include theft, forgery, fraud…"

"Well, our case will be easier. At least we know if our number is the victim or perpetrator."

"Actually, it is not  _that_  simple; I don't see him as a perpetrator. First of all, because Mr. Caffrey is a non-violent criminal, and most especially since he currently works for the FBI."

"With that rap sheet?"

"As a matter of fact, he was only charged with bond forgery. The other… accusations have never been proven."

"It just proves that he is good."

"One of the best, according to the FBI agent, Peter Burke, for whom Mr. Caffrey works."

Reese raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Caffrey has benefitted from a release program to work for the FBI. He is a Criminal Informant for the White Collar division. He wears a tracking anklet that bounds his movements when he is not under the supervision of his handler. Otherwise, he works with agent Burke's team. His knowledge as regards arts, but also forgery is priceless in his new job. His talent for undercover work has helped the service see its success rate skyrocket."

"He's actually just getting paid for what he did illegally before."

"That's one way of putting it."

Finch limped to the wall to stick more pictures.

"Peter Burke, the FBI agent that chased Mr. Caffrey for four years before finally catching him. His service records are mostly spotless."

"Mostly?" Reese repeated with his usual low voice.

"Apparently, working four years with his informant has made him cross the line on some occasions; the clear white and black world he fervently stood for seems more blurred since then."

"The call from the dark side?"

"These two men, despite their surprising collaboration, have developed a very strong friendship, which has led the agent to jeopardize his career on some occasions. Last year, despite direct orders from his superior, agent Burke went all the way to Cape Verde to look for his informant."

"Cape Verde? What's his radius?" Reese exclaimed.

"Two miles."

Reese waited for an explanation.

"While he was undergoing a hearing to study his release for good behavior, Mr. Caffrey cut his anklet and ran. It took agent Burke six weeks to find him, in quite complicated conditions."

"And Caffrey didn't go straight back to jail?"

"No. It turns out the paradise island he had chosen to hide away was also the hideout of one of the FBI's most wanted. As usual, he managed to play his game perfectly and he got reinstated in his deal with the FBI."

"He does get out of everything…" John murmured.

"Maybe not this time," Finch answered.

Reese turned his head.

"Agent Burke is currently in jail, suspected for the murder of a senator. I still don't have all the details of the case, but Mr. Caffrey's new handler may not be as lenient."

"Most agents give little value to the life of their informant, no matter how useful he can be. The threat may be there," Reese suggested.

Finch stuck two additional pictures. "Diana Berrigan and Clinton Jones, two agents working under Burke. Good elements, they enjoy working with Mr. Caffrey."

Finch finally put up the picture of a short man, mostly bald and wearing round glasses.

"Mr. Spectacles."

"Mr. Spectacles?" Reese repeated slightly amused.

"Yes. This person is close to Mr. Caffrey, a friend, maybe a former partner or associate. I couldn't find any information about him. This man… doesn't exist." Finch looked upset.

"Finch, did you finally find your counterpart?"

Finch straightened, feeling slightly insulted. "The circumstances that led to my… situation are, as you probably know, very delicate."

Reese couldn't help a smile. "I'm sure you'll find out Finch; don't let it get to you. So, any idea why the machine gave us his number? Do you have a hypothesis? Victim or perpetrator?"

"Mr. Reese, I do not make hypotheses. I analyze facts and reach conclusions. So please, go find some facts."

John raised his cup in a toast and drank the last drops of coffee. "I'm gone. Let's go study this most surprising character."

* * *

 

As Reese went towards Caffrey's home to search for information and put a bug, Finch kept giving him more information. The CI was renting a room in a town house of the Upper East side of Manhattan. Finch told John a rich widow, previously married to an infamous criminal, rented him a loft on the third floor of her house for the unbelievable amount of $700.

"Finch, tell me more about that Caffrey. Did you find more information?"

"Yes, I managed to enter the FBI server and access to agent Burke's back-up data. His security system is quite impressive, much more sophisticated than his colleagues'."

"He may be suspicious of his consultant," Reese suggested.

"You mean, like an employee spying on his employer?"

Reese couldn't help a smile. Finch didn't miss a chance to remind him he hadn't enjoyed his own spying to know more about his employer.

"Mr. Caffrey showed up on the FBI radar approximately eight years ago. Agent Burke seems to have made this a pet case and chased him for four years. They literally played cat and mouse all over the world. Mr. Caffrey was finally arrested but the only charge they could hold was a case of bond forgery."

Finch was silent for a moment and Reese only heard the clicking of the keyboard.

"Among the different charges was the theft of a Raphael painting, St George and the Dragon."

"Did he steal it?"

"It is highly suspected, but the painting mysteriously reappeared one year ago, so the truth will never come out."

"He  _is_  good," Reese admired.

"Very. Then, four years ago, less than four months before his release, Mr. Caffrey escaped from high security prison."

"He was in high security for bond forgery? Wasn't that a bit exaggerated?"

"He was considered a high escape risk, hence the decision."

"For all the good it did… So he escaped with so little time to go? He must have had one hell of a reason."

"Agent Burke found him less than a day later. Mr. Caffrey was sent back to prison with four more years added to his sentence. That's when the deal with the FBI was cut."

"So Burke is his handler?"

"Yes. And he cannot complain. Since they started their collaboration, their success rate has risen impressively. Mr. Caffrey is non-violent, but in the White Collar service he is a real asset."

"As a former conman, he knows where to look. I'm pretty sure he has kept some of his old contacts."

"Possibly. Two years ago, Agent Burke and Mr. Caffrey recovered a Nazi plunder estimated at several billion dollars in a German U-boat from WWII." Finch was silent for a moment. "Hum, this is weird. Apparently, the contents of the U-boat were destroyed when the warehouse it was stored in blew up; yet a year later, when the FBI found the art, a certain Keller testified to having stolen it to give it back to its rightful owner, Russia… Unbelievable!" Finch exclaimed and remained silent.

"Finch?" Reese called touching his ear wig.

"I have a strong feeling that Mr. Caffrey was in possession of the art of the U-boat during the whole time."

"And he didn't run away?"

"He does seem to enjoy this new life working for the FBI."

"Yet, now that he has chosen the right path, his life is in danger."

"The cases run by the White Collar unit are usually far less violent than those of other services, however it doesn't prevent danger."

Meanwhile, John had arrived at Caffrey's place.

From the opposite side of the road, Reese was looking at the building dumbfounded. It was obvious Caffrey had certainly used his charm and con talent to rent the place. In this kind of neighborhood, you didn't get a piece of boardwalk with newspapers for $700. On the down side, there was no way he was going to be able to get into the apartment to search it or put a bug. He had just seen a delivery man handing a parcel through a service door. It was obvious that the owner had personnel. Accessing an apartment in this kind of town house was completely different than entering a building. He looked around to spot a terrace from which he could spy on the apartment from a distance.

In the meantime, he might as well try to find Caffrey. Entering the FBI building was out the question, there were some limits he wasn't willing to cross. He'd settle in the vicinity. With some luck, Caffrey would step out for lunch and he would get a chance to approach him enough to blue-jack his phone.

Around noon, he finally spotted Caffrey. He was going towards Federal Plaza, animatedly discussing with agent Diana Berrigan. The conversation seemed quite lively, at least for Caffrey. The young woman was shaking her head wearing a resigned look, as if the consultant was weaving an impossible tale. The informant didn't seem fazed by the rebuttal and kept pleading his cause.

Reese would have loved to hear the conversation. He was too far away and would need to get closer to blue-jack Caffrey's phone, but the place they were standing on was too visible to give him easy access. He would try later. Following him while trying to find out why the machine had given them his number was going to be fun. The man was full of a thrilling energy.

Apparentlygiving up, Caffrey raised his arms to the sky then put a hand through his hair. He then turned towards John. The ex-CIA agent didn't worry. He was just another bystander, out for lunch, enjoying a sunny day in New York. He saw Caffrey frowning then turning back to Berrigan and talk seriously to her. She burst out laughing, then showed the direction of the building entrance as they made it back to their offices.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Caffrey left the office and turned northward. His leisurely pace indicated he wanted to enjoy the warm air of the afternoon as he walked home. Following him from a safe distance, Reese took the opportunity to study the man up close. He was a very handsome man; he knew it and seemed to enjoy the casual glances the women gave him, smiling broadly in answer.

Unexpectedly, Caffrey stopped in Washington Square Park. He bought a coffee, then sat on a bench to listen to a jazz player who seemed to know him. John used the occasion to get closer and blue-jack the phone. After a couple of tunes, Caffrey rose and resumed his walk at a faster pace.

On 9th street, Caffrey was shoved by a short man, who promptly apologized and vanished so fast John couldn't see his face. The silhouette reminded him of that Mr. Spectacles, but the two men were friends, there was no reason for the behavior; John winced in annoyance.

Keeping a brisk pace, the informant finally arrived home. He looked around him before opening the door, then closed it slowly. John doubted that Caffrey could have seen him; his years spent undercover had taught him to be invisible. As a former criminal, the conman was probably more distrustful than most people. He knew to always watch his back; he certainly did it most of the time without realizing it.

Going up to the roof he had spotted earlier, Reese called his boss.

"Finch?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese. Any news?"

"No, nothing so far. Caffrey just made it home. He walked back to his place, smiled to all the women of New York, stopped to listen to a jazz player in the park… For a former criminal, this guy is almost boring. I'll keep a watch on him from a terrace. Anything new on your side?"

"Still nothing on Mr. Spectacles. I did, however, find out why Mr. Caffrey didn't seem to exist before his eighteenth birthday. He grew up in witness protection."

"In New York?"

"Saint Louis. He was sent there with his mother and his father's partner when he was three. A sad story about a crooked cop. Apparently, the criminal genes run in the family."

"The apple not falling far from the tree? Isn't that a bit easy for you Finch? Was your father a scientist?" Reese never missed a chance to dig into his employer's past.

"Hence my fascination with computers? Mr. Reese I invented it all…" Finch answered with a smile, hinting that he had understood John's intention and wouldn't say anything. "No calls on Mr. Caffrey's phone?"

"Not since I blue-jacked it. There is no activity, as he has it turned off. Surprising. I thought nowadays, you got a call every ten minutes."

John took some pictures of the apartment, sending them directly to Finch through the wifi connection on his phone. Caffrey had removed his jacket and tie and had just poured himself a drink.

Mr. Spectacles arrived a few minutes later in a state of advanced frenzy. He went straight to the bottle and poured himself a generous glass. Reese lamented not having been able to enter the loft. He really would have liked to listen to that particular conversation. The short man seemed to vibrate with anger while Caffrey tried to calm him down.

Ten minutes later, the conman went to his easel.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Yes, Finch."

"Nothing new? The pictures you sent don't reveal much, except that they have an excellent taste in wine. That particular year is absolutely wonderful."

"No. Caffrey is painting. And if his friend doesn't calm down, he's going to have a heart attack."

"Mr. Caffrey is a remarkable artist. Painting probably helps him relax."

"Or convey a message…" Reese murmured.

"Art is just another expression form," Finch answered.

"No, I mean, really convey a message." Reese took a picture and sent it to Finch.

In his library, Finch straightened suddenly. Bear felt the sudden tension of the man and came closer with a little whine.

Finch rubbed its ears to calm him down. "It's okay Bear. Our new number is quite surprising indeed."

_TBC…_

* * *

N/A: What is Neal up to? Didn't he realize he was being followed?

Stay tuned…


	2. Chapter 2

_New York, Neal's loft, Tuesday morning_

Neal adjusted his tie again. It was perfectly in place, but he felt nervous.

After countless transactions and miles of red tape, he had finally obtained the authorization to visit Peter in prison. Since he was a former inmate, the prison ward and Calloway, White Collar's new boss, didn't see his presence in a penitentiary building with a good eye.

He was pretty sure he could get Peter out, but the agent wouldn't agree, so where was the risk?

He straightened the knot another time, put the tie-clip in place and smiled. It looked faked even to his own eyes. He felt guilty. His own father was responsible for Peter's imprisonment and the man had disappeared.

His relationship with his father was complicated to say the least. As a child, he had admired the man, who had died as a hero fulfilling his protective mission, and he had wanted to follow in his footsteps, become a police officer, save lives. Then, on his eighteenth birthday, Ellen had told him the truth. His father was a crooked cop… and he was not dead. Neal had run away then, finally achieving his childhood fantasy of following his father's example: he had become a criminal.

Then, James Bennett had reappeared, and while Neal tried to get to know the stranger, giving him a trust born from blood, he had finally revealed that he was indeed… evil.

The problem was that Peter was paying for it. Peter, who, once again, had crossed the line for him, was now charged with the murder of a senator, when the real culprit was James.

Despite his past as a criminal, conman and any other names his colleagues labeled him with, Neal had a deep trust in justice. He had to. He had to believe that Peter would be cleared; it didn't help him feeling less guilty though.

So this visit, strongly battled for, had a bittersweet taste. He was happy to see his friend, but worried about what he would see in his eyes.

He moved the square in the breast pocket one millimeter, sighed deeply and went to the door.

When Peter had been incarcerated, the authorities had found out that nothing had been planned in case Neal found himself without a handler. The first solution proposed had been to send him back to prison. For a few hours, Neal had been detained in the FBI offices, waiting for a decision to be made. Looking back, he wasn't ashamed to admit he had been terrified.

Four years in prison hadn't been a walk in the park, but he knew that going back in now would sign his death warrant. Too many people were behind bars because of him. In the end, that risk had saved him. Calloway, even if she didn't trust him, had admitted that there was indeed a threat to his life. Furthermore, no one could deny the help he gave the service; losing him would be bad for their success rate, especially now that their best agent was out of the game.

While they decided who would be his new handler, Diana and Jones had been charged with the joint custody. A temporary solution, unfortunately. They didn't have enough seniority to keep doing it in the long term. But Neal had been greatly relieved.

The two agents knew the deep bonds between Peter and Neal, and they had tried to lighten the mood. "Don't expect me to invite you for dinner," Jones had said. "Don't think you can con me as easily as Peter, I'll break your arm if you try," Diana had warned. They had laughed, but it sounded dangerously close to tears.

Jones was driving him to prison. He was waiting for Neal in front of June's house, admiring the building with a smile. No matter how many times he had come to this place, he couldn't help thinking that the conman was too lucky. He lived in an under floor, when Neal had a terrace with a view to die for. He wasn't jealous; he just thought life could be weird.

Neal opened the door of the house and came quickly to the car.

"Hi, Jones."

"Hi, Neal."

They got into the car and drove towards the prison. Neal was silent, looking distractedly through the window. Jones observed him from the corner of his eye. He knew him well enough to know the calm was only a façade.

"Nervous?"

Neal winced and Jones didn't insist. He knew most of the complicated twists that had led to Peter being in prison, but he still couldn't help holding a grudge against Neal. He knew he wasn't responsible; yet, if he hadn't escaped prison four years ago, then Peter wouldn't be behind bars now… Of course, then they wouldn't benefit from the best success rate that Caffrey had made them achieve. He could understand why Neal was nervous; he was having trouble sorting things out too.

They reached the visitors sector and Neal couldn't help thinking that it had been easier getting out of the place four years earlier. Apparently the guards had been warned about his past, and he kept being controlled until he finally reached his destination. He would meet Peter in the visitors' parlor.

When Peter arrived, dressed in the ugly orange jumpsuit, Neal felt his throat tighten. The man really didn't deserve to be there. Peter, obviously glad to see him, smiled broadly and went to sit on the designated booth. Neal blinked quickly to clear the tears he felt coming up. Peter was there because of him, yet his friendship was untouched.

"Neal," Peter said putting his hand on the glass partition.

They hadn't even been allowed to a meeting room… The best White Collar agent, the one that in a coherent world should be leading the service, after Hughes' demise, was treated like a petty criminal. Yet, Neal couldn't help thinking that the choice of the location was more his fault. Calloway had been very clear, his authorization was exceptional –no one wanted him inside the prison–, he couldn't expect any favor. But seeing Peter behind that glass wall was almost too much.

 _Time to use your talents. Remember, best con ever?_ Neal forced a smile on his face.

"I always knew orange would suit you better than me," he joked.

"Not so sure, orange looks better on dark hair."

"Not at all. Look at Mozz. He loves that orange scarf…"

Peter raised an eyebrow. "I'm finding it difficult using 'hair' and 'Mozzie' in the same sentence."

The two men laughed.

Peter shook his head. "Well, don't get too comfortable. I don't plan on using it for too long."

Neal's face instantly went from laugh to distraut by remorse. Peter grunted in exasperation, as if he had already had that conversation. Actually he had. Except it had been with Elizabeth, who had kept him informed of the situation, and how Neal had slowly crumbled down as the charges were piled upon her husband.

"Neal, it is  _not_  your fault." Before his informant could protest, he went on. "We both know who did it; I need your energy to help me clear my case. Feeling guilty won't resolve anything."

Neal winced. Peter watched him in silence. He hadn't seen him since his arrest and their treasure hunt inside the Empire State Building. He remembered what they were doing there in the first place.

"So tell me, how did you manage to get the documents out of the Empire State? I know the terraces are protected to prevent daredevils of your kind from jumping down…" Peter added hoping to make him smile.

The memory of the parachute fall brought a smile to Neal's face. The adrenaline released by a forbidden jump in the heart of New York left traces for a long time.

"No. No base jumping this time. We built a miniature zeppelin and launched it from the 103rd floor."

"But the access to that floor is restricted!" Peter exclaimed, not surprised by his partner's invention. He frowned remembering what he had read. "Except in some particular cases." He opened his eyes wide as he remembered a leaflet Elizabeth had given him. "Oh my God. Neal, tell me you didn't propose to Sara!"

"Sara has her own views on legality; she was glad to help us."

He felt his chest tighten; the scene had been too close to reality not to hurt both of them. She had left for London that evening and had only sent a brief text message to let him know that she had landed safely.

Peter could see the pain in his partner's face and decided to drop the subject. Neal had enough problems as it was, no need to have him ponder on the "what ifs".

Neal blinked, closing that particular file, and turned to the matter on hand.

"I have somebody looking out for James…" he said.

"Ah, M–"

Neal cut him with a reproaching look. Mozzie would be furious to learn that his name had been mentioned in a conversation that might be monitored.

"I told Jones and Diana everything I knew; I'm afraid it doesn't lead us anywhere."

"It might take time…"

"Did your lawyer find anything? I can't believe your service records aren't enough to clear you!"

"Neal, you've seen the charges. I would have charged myself with that much evidence."

Neal shot him a cold stare.

"I may have other leads, but I'm sure Calloway keeps a close tap on me. It's not very helpful."

"So, tell me, how are things at the office?" Peter asked.

His informant told him about his daily life, the cases he worked with Jones and Diana. The non-stop surveillance from Calloway who seemed to be sure he was onto something. Hughes' calls in the evening. Life at the office ran smoothly, as if the world hadn't stopped turning the day Peter had come out, handcuffed, from the Empire State Building.

They left when their time was up and Neal went back to the office. They were working a new case and he had to go back, but what he really wanted to do was to go out and find the real culprit.

 

* * *

Around noon, Neal and Diana were coming back from a useless meeting with a banker. Their new case revolved around high finance and insider trading. But their meeting with a lower ranking employee hadn't panned out and Neal wanted to go undercover. Diana didn't want to put Neal in danger and wasn't relenting despite the informant's speech.

"Really, Diana. It would be for the best. No one would suspect anything."

"Neal, I said no. Stop insisting. I'm not Peter. You will not con me with your charming smile. If anything happened to you, he would kill me when he's back."

Diana didn't have any doubts about her boss' innocence. She trusted justice and new that sooner or later he would be back at the White Collar office. She was just hoping it would be sooner rather than later, she didn't want to have to explain why she had killed his informant during his stay in prison. She liked Neal, but sometimes she just couldn't understand how Peter kept up with him.

"Argh!" Neal yelled throwing his arms in the air.

He really missed Peter. Convincing him would have been easier. Diana seemed totally unfazed by his charms. And from the look she was giving him, he'd better stop before she threatened to put a bullet in his leg.

He combed a hand through his hair and looked behind him.

"Something wrong?" Diana asked, feeling the sudden change in his attitude.

"I don't know. I feel like I'm being watched."

"Neal, anything wearing a skirt within a two mile radius is watching you." Diana cast a glance at a young man walking past them. "Not necessarily skirts though…" she whispered to herself.

Out of habit, she cast a glance on the plaza behind Neal. The place was full of people enjoying the sun and their lunch break. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She slapped him gently on the shoulder. "Welcome back to New York. Bet you miss your island!"

Neal made a face at her and they went back to their offices on the 21st floor.

Back at his desk Neal couldn't help thinking about that feeling of being observed. He wasn't paranoid. Mozzie's paranoia was large enough for the both of them. His instincts were rarely wrong, but he hadn't seen anyone suspicious in the street. He picked up the file he was working on, but the little voice in his head wouldn't relent. Grunting in frustration, he dialed a number.

"Hi, Mozzie. Are you available later on? "

"Hi, Neal. How are you doing on this nice sunny day? I am enjoying the weather."

"Hello, Mozz," Neal answered with a smile.

"What's up?"

"Your paranoia tendencies may be spreading, but I feel like I'm being watched."

"Neal, of course you are being watched. You are inside the FBI building!"

"Mozz…" Neal protested.

"You think someone is following you?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen anybody, but you know…. that weird feeling that somebody is watching you?"

"You'd like me to check if anyone is stalking you?"

"Yes, please."

"You want me to stalk the guy who's stalking you…" Mozzie suddenly seemed quite amused.

"Mozz…" Neal repeated. He wasn't in the mood to follow his friend's twisted sense of humor.

"No problem. I'll check it out when you leave the building. Make a stop at Washington Square so that I can get closer if I notice anyone."

"Ok, thanks Mozz. I'll owe you. Come by my place, I'll give you a drink."

"That's the least I expect. I saw that you have a bottle of Château Margaux hidden away."

"I was keeping it for a special occasion!" Neal complained, that bottle was quite expensive.

"I'm saving your life, isn't that enough of an occasion?"

"Yes, it is. Thanks again, Mozz."

 

* * *

At 5:00 pm, Neal sent Mozzie a text to let him know he was leaving, then took his time. The nice weather had women wearing short skirts and big smiles, walking home had its advantages.

He stopped at Washington Square to listen to Tom. Tom was a jazz player. He used to be part of a group in the 60s, then the friends had drifted apart. Today, he played for pleasure and the change that people were willing to give him. Neal loved to sit and listen to him, there was something in the way he played that spoke of a distant past. As usual, he left a bill and headed to the loft.

On 9th street, Mozzie shoved him and disappeared so fast that Neal instinctively reached for his wallet. He jumped in surprise when he found a piece a paper in his pocket, but kept walking as if nothing had happened.

"DITCH YOUR PHONE". The message was short and in Mozzie's typical scribble. How could a guy that could reproduce the best calligraphies have such a poor personal writing?

Frowning, Neal turned his phone off, removed the battery and card, then disposed of the pieces in various places on his way home.

When he arrived at June's place, he looked back. So, somebody was indeed following him. The guy was good, he couldn't spot him. Neighbors, a tall guy with greying hair in a nice suit, some kids. The usual inhabitants of the upscale neighborhood he lived in. He closed the door slowly.

He climbed the stairs to his apartment and sighed as he entered. Mozzie would soon be there and he was going to be overexcited. His instincts were still good though, he  _was_  being watched...

He removed his jacket and tie, putting them on a chair, then opened a bottle.

Mozzie didn't bother knocking and came in, heading straight for the wine.

"You were right, somebody is tracking you," he said, gulping down half his glass.

He took a device from his pocket and started scanning the apartment looking for bugs.

"Mozzie, you checked this place last week…"

"Last week you didn't have an expert stalking you."

" _Expert_?" Neal repeated with an impish smile.

"Yes,  _expert_. CIA, secret service type… any one of those lettered agencies. The guy is good, really good. I can't believe you spotted him. I mean, I saw him because I  _was_  looking for him."

"Why did you have me ditch the phone?"

"He blue-jacked it when you were listening to Tom."

"He what?" Neal exclaimed. "Damn, I didn't even see him."

"Told you, an expert."

Neal sighed in frustration and went to the window, looking at the extraordinary view without seeing it. After a few seconds, he went to his easel.

"You're gonna paint?  _Now_?" Mozzie choked on the words, wondering if Neal had lost his mind.

A few seconds later, Neal took the easel to the terrace, facing one the terraces that seemed the closest.

"Neal?" Mozzie asked.

"If he's that good, I'll show him we are too."

 

 

_TBC…_

* * *

N/A: What's on the canvass?

Stay tuned…

* * *

Please let us know what you think of our story... begging much?


	3. Chapter 3

AN. Thank you for your reviews and kudos!

Our two guys are going to finally meet...

* * *

 

New York, Upper East Side, Tuesday late afternoon

"Mr. Reese?" Finch questioned.

"Finch, I think I'm going to see if that wine is as good as you say it is."

"Mr. Reese, you know I value discretion in our enterprise."

"They spotted me Finch. And I'm pretty sure Caffrey got rid of his phone. The usual method won't work this time." John left the terrace. "Considering Mr. Caffrey's past, I think he'll understand our need for secrecy."

"Don't say anything compromising."

"Finch, I don't tell you how to code your programs," Reese answered with a small smile.

The billionaire didn't answer. After all, he had chosen Reese for this work; he knew his talent and expertise. He didn't need to remind him their process.

John crossed the street and rang the bell of the beautiful house.

* * *

 

"What did you write him?" Mozzie asked.

"Told him to come have a drink."

Neal was still watching the closest terraces trying to spot a glint on a camera or binoculars, but couldn't see anything.

"You think he'll come?"

"Pretty much. He's good, but he's been spotted. If he has some sense of honor he'll come. He stands nothing to lose. If he wanted to kill me, he wouldn't have followed me in plain daylight. If, as you say, he is an ex-agent or military, he'd only need a long range gun to shoot me on the terrace.

"Neal!" Mozzie yelled, horrified by the calm in which Neal was describing his own murder.

"You want to leave?"

"And miss Mystery man? Certainly not."

"Pull out a glass; I'll go down to greet him."

* * *

 

Neal opened the door. On the porch stood a man, tall, brown hair greying on the temples, wearing a well cut suit over a white shirt. Not the kind of clothes you'd expect from someone tracking you. And Neal realized he had indeed seen him before, without giving him a second glance. His stalker was very good at hiding in plain sight.

John observed Caffrey. The man was even more stunning than he had thought. Those clear eyes on a perfect face were bound to let him get away with anything. He was wearing a very nice expensive suit; Finch was going to like the style of their lastest number.

"Mr. Caffrey", he said holding his hand.

"I'm afraid you have an advantage, Mr.…" Neal gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes and shook the offered hand.

"Call me Reese."

"Mr. Reese, why don't you come in?"

The two men went up the stairs in silence. Mozzie was waiting by the open door.

As usual, John studied the room, raising an appreciative eyebrow at the stunning view from the terrace. For an artist, that view probably gave endless sources of inspiration. He went to the glass door to admire the skyline and the roof top he was standing on a few minutes earlier.

He then stepped away. Years in the secret services had taught him to stay away from exposed places. This room with the terrace and all its windows was a living nightmare. He went back to the entrance of the room, wall against his back, although the ladder on the wall made him itchy.

"What would you like to drink?" Neal asked.

"A glass of that wine would be nice. I've been told it is a nice year."

Mozzie filled a glass for their guest and refilled his own.

"So Mr. Reese, to what do I owe your interest?" Neal asked seriously.

Straight to the point. Surprising for a conman. John was expecting more deflection.

"I'll have to admit my surprise," John confessed. "When did you spot me?"

"Around noon."

Reese couldn't help paling a bit. Caffrey had seen from the beginning!

"Actually, I didn't see you. But I felt I was being watched. My… past has taught me to be cautious. I asked my friend to check if I was just being paranoid or if indeed someone was following me."

Interesting, Mr. Spectacles hasn't said a word yet. And he was good too, Reese hadn't noticed him either. On the other hand, he was too busy keeping an eye on Caffrey, not suspecting for one second that he might have been followed too.

"Hence the stop at Washington Square…" Reese turned to the short man. "What was that about on 9th street?"

"Saw you clone his phone, I had to let him know."

Reese let out a small admiring whistle. He sincerely hoped Caffrey was the victim; so much talent to do evil would be a shame. Not that he wished him any harm.

"So?" Neal insisted.

"A reliable source has informed me that you were in danger. My only purpose is to protect you."

"Reliable source?" Neal repeated.

"A little vague. That source, is it your invisible friend?" Mozzie asked.

"Invisible friend?" It was Reese's turn to be surprised.

"Imaginary would imply that you are not totally sane and I doubt that you speak alone. You have an ear wig connected to your phone, I suppose?" Mozzie explained.

"Mr. Reese, I remind you that I wish to keep my anonymity," Finch said in a worried voice.

John looked at the two men in the room. He was starting to like them. The short bald one seemed as paranoid as Finch. A meeting between those two could prove interesting, too bad Finch didn't leave the library often.

"So that source of information"? Mozzie insisted.

"Reliable, I'm afraid I cannot tell you more."

"See Neal, that's exactly what I keep telling you. We are being watched, spied, observed, controlled… Big Brother exists and no one cares!" Mozzie burst out.

Neal winced. He was used to Mozzie's conspiracy theories, but maybe this time his friend wasn't totally wrong.

"Do you know of anyone who would hold a grudge against you?" Reese asked.

Neal and Mozzie traded glances and shrugged.

"A few ones probably…"

"Any names?"

"Mr. Reese, I've been working with the FBI for the past four years. I helped put a lot of people behind bars. I may also have made some enemies before that."

"You mean during your criminal career."

"Alleged criminal," Neal instantly corrected.

"Sorry, my mistake. You were only charged with bond forgery. It just proves that you are good." Reese had spent enough time on the dark side to easily accept the man's past. "Incidentally, a personal question. How did they catch you?"

Mozzie grunted in disapproval and Neal shot him a dark glance.

"Ah, l'amour…" Mozzie singsonged.

Neal scowled.

A woman. Always one behind every man, Reese thought.

He sipped some wine and nodded in approval. That wine was indeed very good. Reese frowned watching Caffrey. The rent for the loft was paid by the government; he probably got paid for his work for the FBI, but the price for such a bottle should be out of his pay grade. Caffrey had resources that had nothing to do with his informant job… Had he managed to con agent Burke and did he keep running his criminal activities on the side? That might explain his number coming up.

Mr. Spectacles was still watching him as if expected to discover who he was by just looking at him. He was positioned close to Caffrey, obviously ready to defend him. A real friend… A paranoid one. Reese had seen the bug detector on the table. He didn't have any doubts about who had checked the loft. This new number really was something different.

"Could you come up with a list of potential 'candidates' to your killing?"

Neal couldn't help a laugh. "I do not keep a log with the list of the people I may have crossed in the past."

Mozzie had a nervous twitch and Neal stared at him frowning. The twitch got stronger.

"Mozz…?"

The bespectacled man cleared his throat and suddenly seemed fascinated by his drink.

A ghost smile played on Reese's lips, at last, a name! More like a surname evidently. He whispered to the invisible participant to the meeting, "Finch, I really think you should meet Mr. Spectacles. I'm sure you'd like him."

"Paranoia can prove useful, Mr. Reese," Finch explained; he had apparently understood what was going on in the room.

Caught in the cross fire of two pairs of clear eyes, Mozzie relented. "Yes, okay. I may keep information on the most… unsavory elements of your past."

Neal felt his heart melt. He knew Mozzie would follow him to the end of the earth; he had literally done it, but apparently Mozz made taking care of his safety a personal mission. What had he done to deserve that? He shook his head giving his friend a fond smile.

"Paranoia can prove useful, Neal," Mozzie justified himself, unknowingly repeating the words of their visitor's boss.

"What did I tell you…?" Reese whispered to Finch.

Mozzie put his glass down and picked up Neal's computer without bothering to ask. He sat by the kitchen table and started typing.

Back at the library, Finch got busy on his computer. This should help them gather more information. He straightened in surprise when his attempts were stopped.

On his own computer, Mozzie was getting more and more upset by the alerts he kept recieving. He raised suspicious eyes upon Reese.

"Is your friend trying to hack me?" he accused.

Another IT genius… Reese thought. The two men had more and more things in common.

Finch grunted in protest. "Hacking infers evil objectives. I only wish to help your new friends."

Mozzie kept staring at Reese, a finger on the switch button of the computer. The situation was unbelievable. He wasn't going to let anyone access his data, no matter what they said. Who was that guy? Who was the invisible partner? How did they know Neal was in danger? Why did they want to intervene? This looked like a bad spy novel, which only proved his certainty that they were constantly monitored.

The hard stare looked weird on the otherwise bland enough appearance of the man. Reese nodded. It was obvious that Mozzie would do anything to protect his friend; he needed his trust.

"Finch, drop it," he said.

"Mr. Reese!" the genius complained.

John sighed in frustration and took the phone from his pocket. He turned it off, then removed the battery, making sure his employer couldn't hear him anymore. He put the dismantled phone on the table, showing his good will.

"Thank you," Mozzie sighed in relief, then turned to the keyboard. He opened a file and invited the two men to get closer.

On the screen, they could see a list of files, color coded. Neal immediately understood the meaning of the colors and paled. He had forgotten some of the names, and he certainly didn't remember the list was that long.

"Quite an eventful life, Mr. Caffrey…" Reese commented.

Sitting in his library, Finch was looking at the screen showing the same files Mr. Spectacles was showing John and Mr. Caffrey. John, you still have a lot to learn from me…

The intrusion alerts that Mozzie had detected, way below Finch's level of expertise, had been meant to distract him. From the very first moment, the billionaire had detected the high protection level of the computer, forcing him to use subtler means to have access.

In this case, he had used the Bluetooth connection on John's phone to transfer a malware to the computer, which was using a similar connection. The worm he had uploaded allowed him to have an access door to all the data.

What he found as he explored the system made him think that somebody quite brilliant, most probably a hacker, had helped set up the security. Either Mr. Mozzie was really good or he had had help. Another back door…

Mr. Spectacles was definitely intriguing. Finch decided to open the back door, but he transferred the process to an independent computer. No use taking any risk, opening that door might reserve a few surprises. Better be safe than worry. The only time someone had managed to enter his system, the consequences had been horrifying.

Back at the loft, the three men were looking at the screen overwhelmed by the task. The list was very long.

"I assume you will not give me access to that list," John said.

Four smoldering eyes made him take a step backward. Gaining their trust was going to be a real challenge, especially the short one. However, they did seem to take the threat seriously. Maybe they would study the list on their own. He didn't doubt that Finch would manage to get access sooner or later.

In the meantime, staying there was useless. He took a phone from his pocket.

"Mr. Caffrey, I believe you lost your phone… I would like to be able to reach you if needed."

"Yeah! Right! So you won't even need to blue-jack it!" Mozzie growled.

"You can still get another phone for your personal use," John answered, his eyes on Neal.

"Who are you?"

The 1000 dollars question. I'll need to come up with something someday.

"Just somebody who would be very disappointed to see you die."

Neal nodded and took the phone. "Thank you."

He walked him to the door and watched him leave southward.

* * *

 

John left the town house in the Upper East Side, turning to go back to the library. He didn't put his phone back together yet. Finch was going to be mad. He'd try to make him understand his reasons.

Raising his eyes to a window, he had an amused smile. Caffrey's friend was following him. He was quite good at it too; he hadn't noticed him immediately. He really wasn't expecting it. Mozzie was definitely as paranoid as Finch. He should let the guy follow him. He'd pay to see a meeting between the two of them.

But Finch would probably miss the humor of the situation. Some quick evasive maneuvers and he had lost his tail. He put his phone back together and dialed a number.

"Mr. Caffrey."

"Mr. Reese?" Neal exclaimed surprised by the call.

"I perfectly understand that you find it difficult to trust me after only one meeting, but could you call back your guardian angel?"

"I'm not his mother," Neal replied with a laugh.

"No, but he takes your safety as a personal issue."

"Old friends…"

"He's the one who trained you?" Reese guessed.

Neal had a nostalgic smile as he thought back to Mozzie's appearance on his door step; toupee, goatee and projects for a lifetime.

"Long story…"

"Please apologize for me for ditching him, but I wish to keep my privacy for now."

"I will convey the message."

"Good bye, Mr. Caffrey."

"Call me Neal."

"John. Good bye, Neal."

"Good bye, John."

Neal had just ended the call when he heard a buzzing from a drawer. It came from the mobile phone he only used with Mozzie.

"You lost him?" Neal asked innocently, with a smile in his voice.

"Yes… How do you know?" Mozzie asked suspiciously.

"John just called to apologize."

"John?" Mozzie repeated, clearly not enjoying the sudden familiarity.

"Mozz, if what he says is true, and you know it is not that farfetched, I think he can help us. Want to come back; identify potential enemies?"

"Neal, the whole night won't be enough… I hope you have more wine in store."

"See you."

* * *

 

John entered the library knowing that Finch was going to be mad at him.

"Mr. Reese, in the future, would you please consider not excluding me from important conversations? I cannot work if I do not have information."

John winced. Despite the soft tone of his employer, he could hear the wrath underneath.

"Finch, we cannot work as usual with these two men. I promise I will not reveal anything compromising, but I am convinced we can count on their silence should they discover anything. For the moment, they do not trust us at all."

Finch gave a small grunt. He trusted Reese; it didn't mean he had to approve all his decisions.

Turning his head toward their board, Reese lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile. "Anyway, I see that you didn't miss much."

New pictures and information had appeared on the glass wall.

"I have many hidden talents, Mr. Reese. Never underestimate me," Finch replied.

"To be honest, I was pretty sure you would find a way to get access," Reese answered. "I wouldn't have been surprised if you had managed to keep hearing us despite the spectacular way in which I put an end to our call. I was mainly trying to gain their trust; actually that of Mozz who seems quite the expert on conspiracy theories. I don't think he trusts anyone, except maybe Neal."

Finch accepted the excuses with a nod of his head.

"Did you find anything about him, Finch?" John asked.

"Still working on it."

"Who's the young boy?" Reese asked looking at one of the screens.

"I used aging software on Mr. Mozz. Reversed it actually and I am trying to find traces of him with that picture. It might take some time. I do hope he has not erased all his past. He is really good or has a friend almost as good as I am."

John was going to ask a question when he noticed another screen where lines of figures scrolled. Never seen that one before, he thought.

"Finch, why do you have another computer beside the usual ones? They are usually enough."

"Oh, that one… It's an independent work, not related to our case," Finch answered in a rush.

Damn, he is observant; nothing ever escapes him? Finch thought of his partner.

John shot him a dark glance. "Finch, don't underestimate me either. I know you are upset that I cut the call, but I also know that when we are on a case, everything you do is related, and this one seems quite complicated. So?"

Finch nodded. He had chosen Reese for his skills; his intelligence was part of the deal.

"When I accessed Mr. Caffrey's computer, I found a back door that shouldn't be there. I would like to know who set it up and I am trying to follow it. The coding is so complicated that I isolated that work on a computer not linked to my network. I want to make sure it will not infect our system," Finch explained.

"What did you find out?"

"Nothing yet. The coding is quite good; the style elegant. I think I have seen it previously on the net. Yet, it is still under my level of expertise so I should be able to access the computer behind it."

"Any idea what's there? Wait a minute… You think Mozz got himself an access to his friend's computer. You're hoping to get access to that computer and retrieve hidden information."

"That's the general idea, Mr. Reese. Mr. Caffrey's computer is very well protected. Mr. Mozz cannot not be aware of that door, which means he knows about it. You are right; I think he set it up. Still, it will be some time before I force it open."

"You know that's not going to help me gain their trust, right?"

"To each one his job, Mr. Reese. Use that charm of yours as you've been known to do it before," Finch answered with a small smile. "Did you gather any useful information from your conversation?"

"Between Neal's past and his work for the FBI, the list of suspects is quite long."

"He is alone now. No risks for his life?"

"No. I don't think anyone wants to kill him. Even though I'll have to admit all those windows make me nervous. It's a sniper's fantasy. I'm thinking someone may want to coerce him into doing something."

"Any idea what?"

"With his many talents? Difficult to guess. The other problem is that he is not protected by Burke anymore."

"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. I have been reading his file and service record, his commendations; I cannot believe agent Burke killed a senator in cold blood. I think we should go over that case, check if the charges are founded. The case is clear. Everything points at agent Burke: his weapon was fired, he had powder on his hands, he was after the senator. The charge file is just perfect, maybe too perfect… We may have a small advantage at Court though."

"How's that?" John asked surprised. They generally avoided anything too close to justice or the police.

"I believe judge Gates is one of your acquaintances, isn't he John?" Finch answered.

John seemed surprised by the news, but it could prove an asset; at least he could try to gain some time if they didn't get the evidence on time.

"Finch, since we are dealing with a senator, I believe we may need our best partner in this kind of situations," John said.

"Miss Morgan."

"Zoe," Reese confirmed.

 

TBC…

* * *

 

N/A: Who wants Neal dead?

Stay tuned…


	4. Chapter 4

_New York, 230 Fifth restaurant, 10:00 pm_

"Zoe," Reese greeted with a nod of his head.

"John," Zoe answered with that slightly amused smile she couldn't help every time she met her mysterious…

_What_  was John Reese exactly? Her savior –no doubt about that–, their first encounter would have ended badly for her had he not been there. Partner –occasionally , Finch didn't seem to mind meeting with her. Ex-husband –that had been fun, and beating the crap out of John at poker had been highly rewarding–. Alter ego –undoubtedly– although their methods were different, their "jobs" had similarities.

"If this is about the divorce, I'm warning you, I'm not giving the ring back," Zoe said without giving time to John to explain their meeting.

"No, please keep it. You absolutely deserved it."

"So, what is it this time? You need me as a partner for the Top of the Dance?"

Zoe didn't doubt John was an excellent dancer. With his James Bond's looks, she could easily picture him in a dashing black tuxedo, twirling her in a wild tango that would leave her breathless. She cleared her throat letting go of the fantasy. John's presence had a tendency to make her forget who she was, who  _he_  really was. That man was far too good looking to keep a level head.

"Although I am quite certain we would have pretty good chances, not this time. I need your talents related to the less glamorous world of politicians."

"Oh. And what is it this time? A Judge of the Supreme Court?"

"No, just a senator."

" _Just_  a senator, of course." Zoe shook her head with a smile. "What about giving me some details?"

Despite the late hour of the call, Zoe had accepted to meet Reese and had suggested a meeting on a rooftop terrace on 5th avenue. They were seated along the balcony with an undisturbed view on the Empire State and the Chrysler buildings. On the other side, further down, One World Trade towered the finance district. The buildings glowing in the night gave the city that special kind of magic that attracted photographers and tourists from all over the world.

She loved the view from this particular terrace; she hadn't decided yet if she preferred it during the day or at night. Despite the apparent visibility of the meeting with a man she highly suspected of having a past as a secret agent, they could actually talk in total confidence. Customers were far too busy having their drinks and charming their partners –if the couple next to them was any indication–, to care about their neighbors' conversations. She looked at John and couldn't help feeling envious about the couple two tables away. They were seating very close, almost touching, their eyes promising more intimate moments later in the night. She could easily picture herself in the same situation. An evening out with John, just for pleasure… His clear eyes, peaceful, only focused on her, his ravishing –but oh so rare– smile, his hands that she guessed could be very gentle…

She jumped slightly when she realized she had been drifting. She, Zoe Morgan, who the higher ups had on speed dial, was behaving like a teenager with a crush for her art teacher. This man was definitively dangerous, on all accounts. She forced her mind back to the conversation.

"I need your help clearing an FBI agent charged with the murder of a senator."

Zoe almost choked on her drink. Only years of practice in her special field prevented her from spraying her cocktail all over John's suit.

"Excuse-me?" she asked in a strangled voice.

Reese couldn't help a smug smile. He was quite proud of the reaction to his statement. Zoe always seemed so level, so much in control; seeing her react that way was most gratifying. He always felt she was one step ahead, that nothing could startle her. Surprising her, even for one instant, was thrilling. And for a second he imagined her losing control under totally different circumstances…

"I am sure you heard about it. You couldn't miss the murder of a member of Congress in New York."

"Senator Pratt, killed by an FBI agent…"

Reese carried on. "I am working on a bit of a special case. The person I need to protect is the informant of that agent. One of the reasons he is in danger may be that he is not currently under his protection. If I am wrong, at least we would have prevented a false accusation. We studied the file of the agent, it is mostly spotless. I find it hard to believe that he killed a senator in cold blood."

Reese picked up his glass to have a sip, apparently thinking his explanation was clear enough.

"John, I'm going to need a bit more than that."

"Harold has all the data."

"Then why am I meeting with you? Not that having a cocktail on a rooftop in Manhattan isn't lovely. If I remember right, you still owed me a drink…"

They left approximately two hours later. After going over the information they had, they had just talked as old friends, enjoying a second drink. Reese had walked Zoe to a taxi and had watched her leave slightly disappointed. He would have loved to accompany her back to her place, at least steal a kiss on the doorstep.  _John, now is not the time, this case is complicated!_

He stopped a taxi and went home for the night. Since he didn't need to be keeping an eye on their number 24/7, at least he could get some rest.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_New York, Neal's loft, Wednesday morning_

The following morning, Reese went straight to Caffrey's loft. He was worried about the informant and wanted to check on him. He hadn't turned off the phone John had given him, so he knew that he and his friend Mozzie had spent some time going over the potential suspects list.

He went up to the rooftop in front of the loft. Caffrey was on the terrace holding a cup of coffee, apparently admiring the view. He seemed rather relaxed for somebody who had been told the previous day his life was in danger; or maybe as a former inmate being outside helped him calm down. After being confined behind bars, the need for space and freedom didn't seem to abate, no matter the years; John had been a prisoner, he knew the feeling.

He didn't bother hiding and Caffrey saw him quickly enough. He waved at him with a big smile, showing his cup of coffee. The ex-agent didn't hesitate. If the coffee was as good as the wine, he wasn't going to turn down the offer.

He met the informant inside, a cup of coffee already served for him.

"Good morning, John. Don't tell me you spent the night on our neighbors' rooftop."

"No, I didn't. I don't think we have to fear a sniper, or the contract would have been settled already," Reese answered, unknowingly almost repeating Neal's words to Mozzie the day before. "You haven't been contacted?" He asked.

"No. Why?"

"I thought that with your many talents, somebody might coerce you into committing a crime…"

Neal winced. He had thought about that; it wouldn't be the first time.

"No. So far the only person pulling at his hair –or what's left of it– in despair is Mozzie."

"Your friend…" Reese let his voice trail hoping Caffrey would pick up and tell him more, but the man only took a gulp of his drink.

John could appreciate the discretion.

Caffrey's computer was on the table, switched on.

"Have you been able to come out with a suspects' list?" John asked pointing at the computer.

"No."

"I know agent Burke is in jail. Anything you can tell me about that?"

John saw Neal's face darken.

"Peter is in jail because of me." Neal frowned as if he had just thought of something. "Elizabeth was right to ask me not to involve Peter…"

"Would you care to explain?" John didn't understand the informant's comments.

"My father killed Pratt to hide the crimes he committed over thirty years ago."

Neal told him the whole story. The crooked past of his father; the witness protection program; Ellen's return in his life –John was touched by the emotion he could see in the man's eyes when he talked about her–; her death, their search for the documents she had gathered, and what looked like a major treasure hunt right inside the Empire State Building.

"You built a miniature zeppelin that you launched from the 103rd floor of the Empire?" John repeated dumbfounded. "You really are something."

Neal had a sour smile, as if it didn't amount to much. "I did manage to get the documents, but my father killed the Senator and ran away leaving Peter on the crime scene with all the evidence pointing at him. We had been after the Senator for months; it doesn't help Peter's case."

Neal was silent for a moment then went on with the story. "It turns out that my father was guilty after all. He came back to my place, probably wanted to destroy the evidence… but I had already seen the documents."  _And he short of threatened me before running away._

Just when he had started to get closer to the man, he had been played by the only person that, in a normal world, should have stood up for him. His own father had told him that  _he_  would not be taking the fall, and had vanished.

Neal sighed, then straightened his shoulders. "We have been looking for him since, but he's spent his life in hiding, his good at it. Jones and Diana are unofficially helping, but we have no lead whatsoever. And as regards Peter's lawyer, she's probably close to asking Peter to plead guilty to reduce the sentence."

"I may be able to help you. Do you have a picture of your father?"

A small light of hope appeared on the clear eyes of the informant. "Yes, of course."

John took the picture and examined the face closely. Neal had his eyes… He turned to the door to leave.

"Neal, I'll meet you at court, at 2:00 pm, right before the beginning of the hearing. I promise I'll do my best to help you clear agent Burke."

Neal observed his guest's face closely. He radiated such certainty, it was impossible to doubt his intent. Who was this man? Yesterday he had followed him, had invited himself to his place to tell him he was in danger, and now he was convinced he could free Peter. There were a lot of secrecies implied, but Neal was willing to grab any glimmer of hope he was handed.

"Thank you," he simply said, extending his hand.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_NY Court house, Wednesday 2:00 pm_

Standing in the shadows, close to the courthouse, John had been observing the crowd for a while.

He had seen the DA, Cameron Denis, arriving, with a satisfied look on his face, as if the case was already closed. The few words he had had with the press people only confirmed that vanity. John would do everything to prove him wrong. He made a note to himself to ask Zoe if she could find anything in his background that could be used against him.

Agent Calloway had arrived a bit later and he saw them talking.

It was surprising that she didn't ask another team member to come depose. Boss usually avoided getting in the front line. Did this have any hidden meaning?  _Another question for Zoe_.

Elizabeth Burke had just gotten out of the car; she was with her husband's lawyer. She went up the stairs of the courthouse, her head high, not giving a single glance to the newsmen. Agents Jones and Berrigan soon followed. John understood then that they were more than simple colleagues. A family. Otherwise, they would have not risked supporting an agent that might end his life in prison, or worse. This commitment would certainly not help their careers. Their faces were dark; they knew how bad the situation looked.

Neal had just appeared on the street corner; John was about to go meet him when he saw the person he was looking for, the Judge on this case, Judge Gates.  _Let's hope saving his son's life will be helpful._

John sent a text to Neal, asking him to wait for him outside the room, then he followed the Judge inside the Courthouse.

When they were alone, he called him. "Judge Gates, a moment, please."

The Judge turned around, surprised by the familiar voice. He had thought it belonged to a past he didn't want to think about anymore.

"Mr. Reese. To what do I owe the honor?" Gates asked.

"I would like to talk to you about the case you are about to preside over," John answered, with some hesitation.

"That is not legal, and you know it. If anyone knows about this, I might be sanctioned," the Judge answered.

"Let me just expose some facts, then you will be free to decide if you can, or not, help us, without breaking any rule. That's not what I am asking for," John explained in a calm tone.

"All right, you have five minutes."

John used the brief minutes to explain the facts, some of which were not in the file. He also insisted on Burke's outstanding career.

"We are not asking you to go against your convictions in this case, just, if you can, stall the procedure a little bit, so that we can get to a key witness. You trusted me with your sons' life; I'm asking you to trust me again," John concluded.

The Judge hesitated a few seconds, then answered.

"I've always meant to find some way to thank you, you know, for what you did for my son. I guess that time has come. Tell the defense lawyer to ask for a delay to bring in capital proof for her client. The DA will probably object, but I will allow two additional days before we meet again. That's all I can do."

"That's a lot. Thank you very much, Judge Gates. I'll make sure to deserve your trust."

Neal saw John coming to him, only five minutes before the hearing. He briefly reported his conversation with the Judge and gave him the message to give the lawyer. John was sure Neal would be able to convince her to follow that strategy.

John left the courthouse and waited outside. Neal's phone would allow him to listen in this preliminary hearing.

The DA only exposed what they all already knew: all the evidence pointed at agent Burke. His gun had been fired, he had gun residue on his hands; the DA also insisted on the FBI team's grudge against the Senator in the past months. All the elements fitted perfectly, and Peter Burke was the perfect perpetrator.

He listed the people he would call to testify: the CSI specialist, agent Calloway who had arrested him.

He concluded exposing that these testimonies would leave no room for any doubt as regarded agent Burke guilt.

The defense lawyer didn't have many tangible elements to oppose. She insisted on the outstanding career of agent Burke. She reminded that the DA hadn't mentioned that her client had a totally different version, one that put a third person on the crime scene, James Bennett, actively searched for by the FBI. She hinted that maybe the FBI wasn't putting much effort in that search.

She ended her speech with a request to the Judge. "Judge Gates, we would like to ask for an additional delay to locate our key witness and therefore avoid a major legal error."

"Objection, your Honor," the DA called. "The Defense has had ample time to find that invisible third party. We cannot…"

"DA Cameron," Judge Gates interrupted him dryly. "I am in charge of this court. Agent Burke's quite outstanding service reports lead me to think that his testimony his trustworthy. I also have another urgent case to hear. You have until Friday 10:00 a.m. Session dismissed."

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_NY Courthouse, Wednesday 4:00 pm_

Neal grimly watched Peter leaving the room with the officers. Diana put a hand on his shoulder.

"Neal, let's go," she said, turning toward the exit.

"It is 4:00 pm already, do you think I could be excused from going back to the office?" he asked. "I don't think I can concentrate on anything right now," he explained.

Diana opened her mouth to decline but Neal's eyes looked so sad, she relented.

"Okay, but you go straight home and don't move," she answered. "I'll check you anklet!" she threatened

"I don't doubt you for a second," Neal answered back forcing a smile. "Thanks."

He left the courthouse with a heavy step, feeling guiltier than ever. Peter was once again the target of his past. Elizabeth kidnapped by Keller, the Raphael's theft… The only good news of the day were those extra 48 hours to find his father. He wasn't very hopeful, but maybe they could hope for a miracle.

He nearly jumped out of skin when he suddenly felt a presence at his side.

"Damn John, give a guy a little warning!" he exclaimed. "Where did you learn to move like that?"

A slight smile went through the face of his mysterious guardian angel. That man was dangerous, he was sure of that. Mozzie thought he was some secret agency operative. Apparently he was on his own now, some "good faring" mercenary?

"Who are you John?" he asked again.

John didn't answer and they walked side by side towards Neal's loft.

"Are you going to follow me until that unknown killer gets close?"

"I cannot protect you without information. By remaining at your side, at least I can try and do something the moment anything happens."

So, thought Neal, he doesn't really know what the danger is. Which brought him back to the same question: who was he and how did he know his life was in danger? Although it was obvious he didn't intend to talk. He wanted to do secretive? Okay, he could keep silent too.

Once at the loft, John went to the window to admire the rooftops.

"This is quite a view you have here, Neal."

"Yes, I am quite conscious of my luck."

"You must have dozens of paintings from this point of view."

"Not that many actually… I'm better at reproductions."

John raised an eyebrow at the confession. Neal had all but admitted that he was a forger. The informant seemed to realize what he had just said when he saw Reese's surprised face and winced.

"You want a drink?"

"Some water would be nice, please."

Neal poured them both some water and turned his computer on. He opened the file that Mozzie had copied on his hard drive. He hadn't found anything but a new eye might see a connection that had escaped him so far.

A chime advised him of the arrival of an email. Out of reflex, he opened his mailbox. He had just received a video. The sender was masked and he opened the file slightly worried.

John and Neal saw a chess game fill up the screen. As if moved by invisible hands, the pieces started moving in a silent ballet. Then the screen froze on an almost finished game.

Neal watched the screen closely, the game was almost done. It had been beautifully played.

A face appeared on the screen.

"Keller…" Neal whispered in a strangled voice.

* * *

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Big bad guy is back! What does Keller want?

Stay tuned…


	5. Chapter 5

_NY, Neal's loft, Wednesday 6:00 pm_

"Hello, Neal. How are you doing? No doubt enjoying your peaceful little life… And how was Cape Verde?" The face lost its ominous smile. "Let's get serious. Let's play chess, just like we used to do. Although this time, the game will be shorter. You probably realized you only have one move left before being check mate. You must make the right move."

Keller sat more comfortably on the chair in front of the camera.

"Now that I have your attention, let me tell you a bit about myself. You probably remember our last meeting. I thought I had had the upper hand when I testified in front of the Russian that I had stolen the treasure to give it back to them. Unfortunately, there's been a backdraft. My friends from the mafia did send me their best lawyers, but the Russian government decided that I actually was the thief. They claimed that if the FBI hadn't arrested me, they wouldn't have gotten it back. They even managed to get me extradited. I guess our country was tired of paying for my food and lodging. So, thanks to you I have been the guest of the Russian jails for the past year. Siberian air is quite chilly, but on the other hand you get to meet interesting people…"

Keller straightened and looked squarely at the camera, as if he wanted to get closer to the face of his spectator. "Neal, you still owe me part of the treasure."

John saw Neal's face go pale.  _What treasure was he talking about?_

"There's still a part of it stowed away, right? The answer is yes, no use denying it. My 'donation' has generated a lot of research through archives. Guess what? They found the manifests of the possessions stolen by the Nazis to the Russian people. They managed to gather a complete inventory and of course realize that pieces were missing… Imagine my surprise when the news reached me. That was right before my 'friends' from the Russian mafia decided to spring me out in order to get their missing share. They feel like they have been fooled too. Yep, Neal, I guess the curse of that treasure is still upon you. Last time, I targeted your FBI friend's wife. This time, I want to be sure you will not reach out to your colleagues for this. This time this is personal."

Keller rose, moved away and the image turned to a room. Neal and John saw Keller opening a door, quite theatrically. Neal's blood turned to ice. Keller talked again.

"Neal, this time, I am hurting you. Tracing your life that last year has been quite easy. You're pathetic Caffrey, so hung up to your little city life. Neal, really, you should watch out and change your way of living! Anyway, once again, a woman will be your downfall. She might not be as beautiful as Kate, but she is far brighter. Too much for this kind of situation. I apologize, my handy men sort of damaged her a bit. But, we couldn't let her escape attempt go unpunished."

The camera froze on a woman and John could see she had been hit, quite seriously too. Yet the red head was keeping her head high and despite the blindfold on her eyes, it was obvious that she was ready to fight.

John couldn't help a grunt. Hurting weaker people, especially a woman, was one of the things he couldn't accept. That man and his accomplices had just signed their death warrant. He didn't care what Finch would think of it, he wasn't shooting kneecaps this time. At that moment, Neal's enemies had just turned into his first priority.

"As you can see, Neal, I have your beloved Sara. She did try to explain that you weren't together anymore, but I know your shining knight side; I know you care enough about her to give me what I want."

Keller's face reappeared in close-up. The man had perfectly staged the video to give it more impact.

"Neal, you have 36 hours to give me the rest of the treasure. I will contact you later with a meeting point. Oh, yes, one more thing. I know you like to keep an eye on things. The way you had that live feed on your treasure was pitiful… Whatever... I just sent you an e-mail. Click on the link and you will be able to witness the last hours of her captivity or her execution, should you decide not to obey my request. I guess it's useless to tell you that tracing back the link will lead you nowhere. Sara is not in the US, and if I remember right, you still only have a two miles radius."

Keller got closer to the camera to turn it off then seemed to think of a last thing. "Oh yeah, say 'hi' to Burky for me next time you visit him in prison."

The chess board reappeared on the screen and the video ended.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

Neal was as white as a sheet, petrified. He seemed totally absent. Fearing that he might actually fall, John put a hand to his arm. Eyes void, Neal moved away and went to the terrace in silence.

Reese touched his earwig in an almost instinctive gesture.

"Finch, we finally know where the danger comes from. Neal just received a very explicit video."

"I recorded it, but I must admit I did not really listen to it," Finch answered, busy with something else. "I just got through the back door of the computer," the genius carried on. "John, you were right, I think I do need to meet with Mr. Mozzie. Please bring him to me as soon as you can."

"Finch, I know it must be important but I need you to look at the video now. You need to research a Matthew Keller. I am pretty sure I saw his name on the possible suspects list. You also need to locate the video stream from the link I forwarded," John insisted. "This is getting very dangerous I am afraid."

Finch, concerned by the dark tone of his associate, raised his head, launching the video on one screen, opening the link on another one.

"By the way Finch, where do you want me to take Mozzie, to the library?"

"Call me when you have him, I'll give you an address," Finch answered distractedly, already focused on the video.

During his brief time with Finch, John had lost track of Neal, but he was easy enough find.

Neal was leaning against the terrace wall, eyes empty. John leaned against the wall, admiring the view. And he had thought the view from his loft was nice enough…

"Who is Kate?" he asked casting an eye to Neal.

A flash of pain crossed the blue eyes.

"Kate… Kate was…" Neal whispered. He couldn't carry on, but Reese immediately understood.

"Was…" he repeated softly. "I'm sorry. "

They remained in silence a moment.

"What happened?"

"She died in an airplane explosion."

"Oh. Accident?"

"No…"

Neal clenched his teeth. Despite the years, the topic was still very touchy.

"We were supposed to run away… then… we got caught in a case that was beyond us. He detonated the bomb before I made it to the plane. She died right before my eyes… and I couldn't do anything." Neal blinked several times to clear the tears that were threatening.

"Did you get him?"

"Yes. Peter shot him while he was trying to kill me, a year later approximately."

Neal was still watching the trees in the street, without seeing them.

"And Sara?" John asked in a soft voice.

Surprisingly, a slight smile appeared on Neal's lips.

"Sara testified against me at my trial. She accused me of the theft of a Raphael painting…"

"Saint Georges and the Dragon…" John whispered.

Neal opened his eyes wide for a second, then remembered that he was safe on that account. The painting had been returned, everything had been settled.

"Your sources are good," he answered briefly. "Later, I met her again while working with the FBI… then, one thing leading to another…" Neal smiled remembering one particularly hot moment in a dusty museum. "She is an extraordinary woman, brilliant, knows how to take care of herself. Her face shows it, but I am pretty sure the men that caught her must have some scars of their own."

Neal remained silent again, lost in his memories. "She had left me two years ago, and we had just started seeing each other again a few months ago when she was offered a position in London. As you can guess, our past is quite complicated. Turning down that job offer wasn't in the agenda. So… we broke up… again," he added in a sad voice.

John watched his quarry. Finding women clearly wasn't an issue with the looks he had. Yet Neal seemed to be the romantic kind. No doubt, he would do anything to help the young woman.

"I cannot lose Sara too. John, you've got to help me save her," Neal pleaded, eyes begging, gripping Reese's arm in an iron hand.

"I will, Neal. Do not worry, I promise to help you."

Neal watched John fixedly. He trusted him. He also realized that this mysterious stranger knew what it was to lose the one you love. He let go of his arm with an apologetic wince.

"So, has a woman ever meant enough for you to do anything for her?"

"Sorry?" John asked innocently.

"What was her name?" Neal asked with a smile, showing that he could see right through him.

" _Behind every great man hides a woman?_ " Reese deflected.

"Gouvé, French poet… I would have rather seen you quoting Sun Tzu." Neal turned to watch him face to face.

"Too cliché for a mercenary…"

"You're not a mercenary… and you haven't answered my question." Neal was a master at deflection; he wasn't going down without a fight.

Reese couldn't help a small smile. Caffrey was good.

"Jessica."

"What happened to her?"

"How…" Reese stopped and frowned watching the ex-conman. In the career he had chosen, Neal needed to know people. He had turned that talent into an art. He could read people like no one else. "Her husband killed her."

"Oh my god!" Neal exclaimed. "He…"

"He is dead," Reese confirmed.

Neal paled slightly. The answer made it clear that his visitor had taken care of that part.

"Mr. Caffrey… Neal. I don't particularly like killing people, but I do not hesitate when it is necessary." He fixed him seriously. "I will not let anything happen to your friend; you have my word."

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

John left Neal alone regretfully. He could see that Sara was important to him. He promised himself he would do anything to bring her back alive.

He now needed to find Mozzie, which turned out to be easy. Tired of the fruitless search, Finch had launched a facial recognition program on the mysterious Mozzie on the city cameras, which allowed him to follow him. He had just sent him his coordinates. Apparently he was at home.

He wasn't very far from his friend; reaching him only took a few minutes' drive.

While trying to figure out how to get to Mozzie without spooking him, John was surprised to see him come out. Neal had probably called him right after he had left him. The short man was as paranoid as Finch. He looked around him before starting towards Neal's place. It was quite easy for John to approach him when he went right in front of him. He caught his arm and Mozzie defended himself with what was probably some personal kung-fu move along with a high pitched scream.

"Relax! It's me, John. Sorry for the theatrics," he said as he put him a hood over the head. "My 'invisible' friend would like to meet with you. It is quite an honor, but you must understand that we, too, need to keep our secrecy, at least as regards our location."

Reese touched his earwig. "Finch, I have Mozzie. Where do you want me to take him?"

"Mr. Reese, seeing as things unfold, could you pick up Mr. Caffrey too? I do not feel confident about it, but I am thinking it is best that I meet them here. I rely on you to make sure that our position is kept secret." Finch answered quickly, apparently busy with other tasks.

Mozzie let John take him to the car, but as soon as he let go of him, he pulled the hood off.

Reese shook his head in disapproval.

"Mr. Mozzie, I thought  _you_  would understand our need for secrecy. I really didn't want to do this."

In a precise move, John caught Mozzie's arms and handcuffed his hands behind his back, glad he had handcuff handy rather than the zip ties he usually favored, those were much more painful. He helped the man sit down, then slipped the hood on the head again.

"Stay put, we're going to pick up your friend."

He drove the car to Neal's loft.

"Finch, how are you going to proceed with Neal's anklet?"

"Already taken care of, Mr. Reese. I hacked his GPS signal and the Marshals base. I modified the data. To everyone, Mr. Caffrey will appear to be at home. This will allow us to get him out of his radius and Mr. Caffrey won't be able to find us if he checks the data afterwards."

"Always ahead of everything Finch!"

He called Neal on the mobile phone he had given him the day before.

"Neal, we have news. I would like you to accompany me."

Neal didn't need to be asked twice and he met John in front of the house. Reese took his arm, as he led him to his car.

"As I explained to your friend, our anonymity is our strength. I apologize for the theatrics of our invitation." In a swift movement, he slipped a hood over Neal's head and handcuffed his hands before helping him sit in the back of the car.

He closed the door and went to sit in front of the wheel. He was fastening his seat belt, when a hand holding two sets of handcuffs appeared by his side. He turned around fast. Neal was holding the handcuffs with two fingers, but had kept his hood on. John couldn't see his face, but he was pretty sure the man was harboring a huge grin.

"John, you still have a lot to learn about me. Namely, this kind of device is totally useless as far as I am concerned."

Reese nodded in admiration, even though the conman couldn't see him.

"If I must trust you, it will have to work both ways. I understand that you want to keep the secret of your headquarters, but I do not like being tied up."

Dropping the handcuffs on the passenger seat, Neal sat back and buckled his seat belt without removing the hood. Reese had a small smile. The ex-conman was really growing on him. He had style and class, a touch of Arsene Lupin. Did he leave visit cards after his thefts?

He started the car towards the library, making many detours to lose Caffrey. He was sure the man would try to memorize the journey.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

 

Bear seemed very interested by their new visitors. He rarely saw strangers in the library. The last person to come had shared his noodles, maybe these would play ball with him.

John removed their hoods. The two men looked around curious.

"Gentlemen," Finch greeted them.

He really didn't like strangers to come to this place, and he was wondering if he shouldn't have asked John to take them to one of the safe houses.

Neal greeted him with a nod, then lifted his pant leg to have a look at his anklet. The green light blinked. So Reese had driven in circles for miles, they were lucky their command center was within his radius.

Finch saw the gesture.

"Mr. Caffrey, I took the liberty to access to your GPS. Do not worry, nobody knows where you actually are. To anyone checking, you are still in your home, moving around the place."

Mozzie raised his head suddenly interested. This man could hack Neal's GPS; despite the situation he couldn't help thinking that this could prove useful in the future. Neal seemed to read his thoughts and shot him a reproachful glance.

"You can't prevent a man from dreaming, Neal," Mozzie complained.

John went by Finch's side and talked in a low voice. "So, what did you find that had you go against your own rules, Finch?"

The genius pointed to a screen and John stared. The famous "treasure" Keller had mentioned. The word was well chosen.

"How much is it worth?"

"More than they can spend in a lifetime…" Finch murmured.

"Does it make them richer than you then?" John discreetly asked.

Finch ignored the comment and turned to their guests positioned in front of the glass wall, checking the data.

"You don't do things halfway," Neal noted. "Who  _are_  you? How do you access… any of this?" he asked pointing to the glass.

Mozzie frowned and turned to Finch.

"You did manage to get into my computer!" he groaned. He squinted for a second. "You are really good; that system is supposed to be tamperproof."

"No system is one hundred percent safe with the right amount of resources, Mr. Mozzie."

The two men measured each other, but Neal had other problems in mind.

"Mozz… Keller kidnapped Sara; he wants the treasure."

"What?" Mozzie yelled. Then sputtered, "but… how…"

"His Russian friends…" Neal explained. He turned to Finch. "I assume you have a copy of the video. By the way, what should I call you?"

Finch approved the request. He wasn't asking for his name, just a name to use.

"You can call me Mr. Finch," he answered as he started the video on one of the screens.

The four men watched the video in silence. John saw Neal clenching his fists when the hurt face of Sara appeared on the screen. The man was non-violent, but he would bet anything that in that precise moment, Neal could possibly kill Keller.

"Can you locate Sara? Can we free her?" Mozzie asked.

"Mozz, I'm not playing with Sara's life. Where is the treasure?"

Mozzie winced; he didn't want to disclose the treasure location in front of strangers.

"Mozz," Neal insisted; then he understood and rephrased his question. "How long do you need to bring it back?"

"It's going to be tight, but I should be able to get it within the time frame Keller is giving you. You do realize though that there will be pieces missing." Neal raised an eyebrow. "Organizing our little trip to Cape Verde… put a dent in it."

John was observing the two men in silence. They seemed so different it was quite amusing. How had they met? Yet, he could feel the strong friendship between the two of them. Mozzie didn't hesitate to give the loot back. Actually, revealing its "secret" location seemed to bother him more.

Mozzie looked at one of the screens more closely and let out an admiring whistle.

"You also found Ellen's documents."

"I think you may have elements to help clear agent Burke."

"We know who killed Pratt; we just need to get a hold of James!" Mozzie protested.

Neal sighed.

"We  _just_  need to find him." He looked at the two men. "James told me that in the end someone always needs to take the fall, and that it wouldn't be him. He will make sure he disappears… The only reason he actually showed up at all was to make sure there was nothing incriminating him." He thought back to their last meeting. "He short of threatened me if I didn't let him go."

"Neal!" Mozzie exclaimed horrified. Neal hadn't told him that part of the meeting so far.

John was watching Neal closely. The ex-conman was devastated, tortured by the different menaces on the agent and his girlfriend. He was going to crumble down.

"Neal, I'm afraid your ex-partner Keller has other projects."

 _So I was right_ , he thought when he saw the hard sparkle in Neal's eyes. They did have a common history as the chess game showed. Neal's past was quite fascinating.

"I think he wants to get his hands on your 'treasure' and that he will then get rid of you and Sara once he has it," he explained with a calm that petrified Finch.

Neal nodded. He had reached the same conclusion.

"I'm going to get her," John simply stated.

"But we don't know where she is!" Mozzie countered.

"No, but Keller is so sure of his game that he is giving us access to the place where she is held. Finch is the best; he will locate the source of the streaming."

"I launched a search as soon as I saw the video. We should get the results shortly," the genius confirmed.

"Mozzie, I am sure your talent will be helpful to read and study the documents you keep on your computer. With Finch's help, you may find elements to clear Burke."

Mozzie grumbled. Working with the man who had managed to hack his files didn't set right with him.

"Mozzie, please…" Neal pleaded. "Calloway is on my back the whole time; I have my hands tied up."

"All right! Mr. Finch, I will help…"

 _Reluctantly, but accepting_ , thought John. Time for him to step up the game.

"Finch, do you have anything for me? Some place, a city?" John carried on.

Finch could feel his partner was very tense. He hadn't foreseen so many complications when that number had come up; but since they had received the video, the ex-agent was darker than ever. Keller seemed dangerous and John didn't seem to doubt his threats. A ping from his computer relieved him; he had some information to give to John.

"Mr. Reese, I just located the video stream," Finch announced. He raised an eyebrow. "London…"

"Miss Ellis works in London. Keller must have contacted a local team…"

"By the time you get there, I'll get you precise coordinates. Still, I won't be of much help on site. You will need to carry this operation with no support. I don't have time to get you satellite support or a thermic image."

"Thank you, Finch. I ran missions without support before; it will remind me of old times," John answered serenely.

A new blip interrupted the conversation.

"Finch?"

"I just located Keller. I had a facial recognition program running on the New York police video system. As I thought, he is in town. Here, he just went by a surveillance camera in South Manhattan," Finch answered quickly, pointing to one of the screens.

"He wants to be there in person to get the treasure," John said. He looked at the two men. "He may even be following you. Neal, Mozzie, I cannot leave you unprotected while I'm away."

He frowned trying to find a solution.

"Neal, keep acting normal. Go to work, pretend you are trying to get the treasure back," John suggested. "Keller cannot be led to think that he doesn't hold all the aces before I get to Sara. As for you Mozzie, you should lay low for a few days. We don't want to give Keller more ammunition. He could just as easily kidnap you to put more pressure on Neal."

Mozzie stiffened, he hadn't thought about that. Neal put a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Reese, I think I have an idea. I will keep Mr. Mozzie here, with me. Bear can help me watch him. As for Mr. Caffrey, we could ask for some help?" Finch suggested.

While casting an apprehensive eye on Bear, Mozzie couldn't help trying to get more information. "I thought it was only the two of you. You actually run a full underground network ?"

"It's only the two of us most of the time; yet we sometimes need help and some people are willing to give it to us," Finch explained.

Upset by these useless conversations, John turned to Harold. "Finch, ask Shaw to keep an eye on Neal. She's the only one I trust for this. Don't talk to Carter or Fusco. We're working in the middle of the FBI, no need to add the NYPD to it."

"The police? But I thought…" Mozzie was silenced by the hard stares of the three other men in the room.

John left the room, asking without turning. "Finch you have thirty minutes to get me transportation."

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

He went to his special room, the one where he kept part of his arsenal, although he had promised Finch to remove his weapons from the library. This operation needed to be run with discretion and haste. He needed to choose his weapons carefully; once he was on site, he wouldn't have time to look for a supplier; he needed to be ready to face any situation.

He made his pick: his 15 shots Sig Sauer, the one he kept from his years in the Special Forces, the silencer, an half-automatic gun, a .45 mm as back-up, additional chargers, some grenades, smoke grenades, his Yarborough knife, night goggles. On second thoughts, he added some Semtex and explosive devices.

He put everything in a bag, then went to change. He slipped on black clothes, rangers, a jacket. In that outfit, he couldn't help thinking back to his days in the army. Good memories despite the risks, the ones he could remember with pride and a feeling of having done his duty, unlike his work for the CIA which was most of the time so dark he had no real clue as to what he was doing.

He picked up the bag and went back to the main room. Neal and Mozzie were very silent. They probably had finally realized the full scope of the situation.

Finch's fingers were flying over his keyboard. He turned stiffly when he heard the heavy thud of the bag on the floor. He winced, guessing what was inside. Despite his promise, his employee still had a part of his weapons in the library… He hated weapons, but he also realized that Reese didn't really have a choice. He made no comments and answered Reese's question before he could talk.

"A helicopter is waiting for you in the heliport of 34th street to take you to Teterboro airport. There, a Falcon 900LX will be ready to take off as soon as you arrive."

"You still manage to surprise me Finch! A Falcon 900LX indeed… The Rolls of private jets that'll get me to London in a non-stop flight, ready in less than one hour; you are hard to challenge," Reese complimented with a small smile.

"I am glad you appreciate my diligence, Mr. Reese. Some information: the crew is minimal, they are used not to ask any questions. Here's a secure satellite phone for your calls once you get to London. There is one in the plane too. I'll keep you updated of our progress here."

John took the phone and chose a passport in a drawer. He picked up his bag; he was ready to leave.

"Try to keep alive while I'm gone. I'll do everything to be back in time for the meeting; be careful in the meantime. Mozzie, try and trust us. I think you'll find out you have a lot of things to share with Finch." He turned to his employer. "Finch, take care, don't get in trouble."

"Neal, sorry to impose this again," John said handing him the black hood. "I'll drop you off on my way."

Neal complied immediately and followed John in silence.

Once John and Neal had disappeared down the stairs, Mozzie turned to Finch.

"Your partner… quite impressive in his suit, but in those clothes he is totally scary. I wouldn't want to be in between him and Sara. Who is he really? Not just some ex-cop that stepped off the radar?"

Finch hesitated, then gave some information, "Special Forces, Delta in another life. Holder of a Purple Heart and Bronze Star, among many others."

* * *

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Will John get to Sara in time to save her?

Stay tuned…


	6. Chapter 6

_Finch's library, Wednesday 8:00 pm_

Mozzie was starting to think that if somebody could help them, then that tall scary man was it. He looked around him, trying to guess where they were. Finch kept his eyes on him.

"Mr. Mozzie, as you understand, what we do must remain confidential. I am kindly requesting that you do not try to find where we are or how we work."

Mozzie wasn't fazed by the words. He was a master at conspiracy theories. He was right in the middle of one, he wasn't about to let that mousy haired man tell him what to do.

"An old library, a building undergoing repair work." He saw Finch tensing. "The window is covered, but some light is still getting in. It is sad that all those budget cuts caused the closing of these places of culture."

He moved around the room. "At least, this one isn't totally lost; I guess you enjoy reading those books. Reminds me a little bit of Wednesday…"

"Wednesday?" Finch asked surprised.

"One of my places." Answering to Finch's raised eyebrow, Mozzie carried on. "Yes, I gave day names to my houses. Of course, they're not the days I am in them; it would make it too easy to find me."

Finch couldn't help a smile. Reese had told him he should meet Caffrey's friend. He could understand why the ex-operative seemed fascinated by the man. He probably saw a fellow genius in him… Yet, they were so different… That man was completely harmless, a dreamer, lost in a world of conspiracies. He probably believed aliens had made contact.

"Wednesday is a library?"

"No, of course not. Why do say that?" Mozzie asked.

Finch didn't answer. Either he had guessed right and the man denied it to preserve his secrecy, or else his logic was beyond him. He didn't carry on; he wasn't sure he wanted to know how the brain of his guest worked. He was bound to have him around for the next 48 hours, might as well make the situation as smooth as possible. Now, if he could convince him to go to the reading room…

"Mr. Mozzie…"

"Stop calling me Mister. Just Mozzie, please."

Finch's computer chose that moment to end a search program and he couldn't close the window before Mozzie's watchful eyes caught a glance.

He froze and shot a dark stare to Finch.

"Mr. Mozzie, please be assured that this information will be destroyed in the next seconds; no one will ever be able to find it. I too am a very private person."

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, then Mozzie went down the hall. He wasn't sure he could entirely trust this IT genius but if he talked now, words might escape him. He had to remain in this place for the next two days –and he would do it, with no questions asked, for Neal's benefit– so he had to keep his head cool. If Mr. Genius could find out about his past, he knew the right people to find his secrets too. Two could play that game…

Finch sighed in relief when his guest left the room, berating himself for not having protected his data. He had a look at the information the computer had come up with.

Orphan, a youth already running small cons, little demeanors. Then the meeting with Caffrey, and his life had changed. The man was bright, brilliant, but he needed a front window. Reese had been right, this man had trained Caffrey. Those two were meant to meet each other.

Then he found an older file and frowned. He was pretty certain Mozzie had never seen this data. Could he, should he, show him? Orphans always longed to know their past, but this particular one might be too much to bear… He hesitated, saved the information in a flash drive, then destroyed the file and launched a program to delete the data he had gathered. He had definitely destroyed Mozzie's past; the man would probably be grateful for that. He would decide later if he should give the flash drive to Mozzie. He was convinced that some secrets were meant to be kept in the dark forever.

He opened the file with the elements on Bennett, the Burke case, the Senator. There were hundreds of pages to read. He'd give a few minutes to Mozzie to calm down, then he would go get him so they could work together. This intriguing person was quite bright, even if he seemed to use his intelligence for weird purposes.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_NY, 34_ _th_ _street heliport, 8:00 pm_

Finch's organization was flawless; the helicopter was waiting, engines running, and Reese was barely sitting in his seat when the Falcon lifted off towards London.

Once in the air, one of the two pilots brought him a light meal. John could see, under the short sleeve, a quite distinctive tattoo "Semper Fi", the Marine Corps motto. Finch seemed to appreciate working with ex-military. He might ask for his help in London; maybe he could drive the car?

Army had taught him to sleep whenever he had a chance. He was seven hours away from London, he might as well use the time to rest. He settled comfortably in the deep couch, closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes.

A few hours later, John jumped awake, momentarily lost. The couch was so comfortable he had forgotten where he was; a perturbation area had just shaken the plane.

He looked at his watch, they still had two hours before landing. He rose to stretch his muscles and was glad to find fresh coffee in the galley.

He went back to his seat and called Finch from the plane's phone. He also found a laptop and turned it on.

Finch answered immediately and his face appeared on the laptop.

"Mr. Reese, I was starting to think that you had forgotten about us," Finch teased.

"I was sleeping Finch. Unlike you, apparently, I  _do_  need sleep. The next days may be quite busy and strenuous. Army teaches us never to lose an opportunity to rest", John answered back. "I'm available now. Anything new?"

"For your part of this operation yes," Finch explained. "I may have identified the four men holding Miss Ellis. I am sending the information to your computer. I also have the address and blueprints of the place she is being held."

"That's much more than I was expecting Finch. Thank you very much. I'll study this closely. I will call you back right before I start the rescue. One last thing, Finch, can you transfer Sara's video stream to my computer?"

"Done, Mr. Reese," Finch answered immediately.

"Thank you. Talk to you later."

He opened the first file. It showed the photographs of the four men mentioned by Finch. The moment he saw them he realized they were Russian mafia hit men, probably FSB ex-agents, turned mercenary for the money. Those would be hard to get rid of. He was hoping they wouldn't be too watchful, probably thinking nobody was going to intervene.

He then studied the pictures and blueprints of the building Sara was being held in.

One of the advantages was the place was close to the airport. He wouldn't lose much time to get there and could therefore plan carefully once onsite.

The old building was at the end of a street, on the banks of the Thames. A perfect location for all sorts of trafficking. Probably also used as a safe house by the mafia.

He carefully checked the blueprints of the building, still wondering how Finch had gotten these. They were perfect.

The old factory only had one level. The map showed a catwalk all around the place. It had probably been used to take care of machinery. A stair on the north angle gave access to the ground floor. He'd need to check it once he got there, but if he there was a roof opening, he had found his way in.

He would only need to locate the four men before he got in.

Once he was done with his careful study, and the layout memorized, he looked at Sara,more specifically the place she was being held. The room had a glass wall all around. That was an extra danger; a lost –or intentional– bullet could get through quite easily.

Rescuing Sara wasn't impossible, but it would be a real challenge, even for a seasoned soldier like he was.

He looked closely at the red head's face. She seemed tired, her features marked by the imprisonment, yet she still had a proud countenance. She hadn't lost all hope; John admired her attitude and promised himself he would do anything to save her.

The co-pilot entered the cabin to let him know they would be landing in thirty minutes.

John got his bag to check he had everything he needed. He removed the Semtex and the explosives. The building wasn't secluded enough to use these. He really didn't need to attract the local police.

John helped himself to more coffee and made a sandwich. The plane had been well provided.

Approximately seven hours after leaving New York, the plane was landing on the British land.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_London, London City airport, Thursday 9:00 am (4:00 am in New York)_

The pilots had just turned the engines off. John checked his equipment, and on second thoughts he added the extra phone, while he waited for the ladder to be brought down.

The captain came back. He stopped short when he saw his passenger with a weapon he quickly stored away.

Their employer hadn't given any reason for this flight organized at the very last moment; apparently it wasn't tourism. His military past had taught him not to ask questions, especially when there was Semtex on a table nearby.

"Sir, Mr. Wren informs you that a car is available. It has been brought close to the plane. It is 9:00 am local time."

Reese nodded his thanks.

"One last thing, do you know at what time you would like the plane to be ready?" the man asked.

"Not precisely; make sure we can leave later in the afternoon," John answered with calm.

The pilot turned to open the plane door. He felt like proposing his help to this man who looked like a former military. He had watched him upon his arrival at Teterboro. Some signs were perfect clues: how he held a weapon, how he moved… The fact that he brought Semtex spoke for itself; few people knew how to use it safely.

He addressed Reese. "Do you need help, Sir?" he asked as the tall man was going down.

Surprised by the request, John turned around, thinking back to the tattoo.  _A driver could come handy_ , especially if Sara or he happened to be hurt.

"A driver could be useful, if you can do that," John answered. "But only if the other pilot can get everything ready by himself for the trip back."

The man disappeared in the cockpit, then met him on the tarmac. He took the car keys from the driver.

John sat in the back, his bag close to him. While he started the car, the man turned around.

"Dirk, glad to be of help."

"John."

John opened his bag, pulled out a .45 mm and handed it to his driver. "Your tattoo seems to indicate that you know how to use one of these."

Dirk took it without a word, but with a smug smile that spoke for itself.

"Here's the address. Doesn't look very far," John added, glad with the unexpected support.

"GPS announces fifteen minutes," Dirk indicated.

"Once we get there, take me around the area before stopping on our objective. This car is a bit visible for that area. I'll let you know where to drop me."

John's face was getting darker as the car approached its mark. He was now entirely focused on his objective.

They finally arrived. The area was under major construction work. Lots of machinery and people in the streets. He saw the blue coveralls with a company logo; if he could get one, he would be able to move around unnoticed.

He hadn't witnessed any suspicious activity in front of the old factory. The driver took him back to the main street and parked the car.

"What do you want to do, now?" Dirk immediately asked.

"Observe for a few hours, reach the person to pull out as discreetly as possible and get out of here alive," John answered.

"I don't know if you've noticed it, but I can park the car in the abandoned building just beside the factory. It would be invisible from the street."

John smiled. His driver was good, but he didn't want to put him in danger. He explained his plan, briefly. Just in case…

He then concluded, "here's a phone. You wait here for now. I'll work alone. I'll call you right before I go inside, then you'll go park in the building, ready to drive us out."

"You're sure you want to work solo? I could provide back-up. I used to be a marksman in the Marines."

"Thank you. I appreciate the offer, but this is not your fight. If it turns out to be more complicated than expected, then I may contact you, but for now I'll go in alone."

Dirk didn't say a word, and the man in black left the car.

As planned, after having borrowed a coverall John looked just like any employee. He had hidden his bag before he started scouting the area.

He spent the next four hours observing the site. No suspicious car; nobody who looked out of place; no back up outside the factory.

He had gone back to his bag and had removed the blue coverall. He was now going toward his target. He had spotted the outside cameras earlier. Fortunately, they only covered the front of the building. He had found a way to go along the building and reached a ladder leading him to the roof.

The area was clear. He scouted it quickly, making sure there wasn't any hidden danger.

And he had just found what he was looking for. A small trap door. It was rusty from disuse, but John managed to open it and went inside the building.

A few steps below, he reached the iron catwalk. It ran all around the factory 50 feet above the ground below. The position was perfect; he could see the whole place. Sara was on the other side of his position.

He could see the woman. She was in the only closed room, still tied to a chair. Her blindfold had been removed, which only confirmed John's suspicion that Keller had no intention of letting her go once he had the treasure. Once again, he was worried by the glass walls. If he wasn't quick enough, one of the men could easily kill her even from a distance.

He concentrated on his enemies. Two were easy to find. They were playing cards, 60 feet away from Sara.

Leaving his bag behind him for the moment, he slowly walked down the catwalk in the shadows. He was utterly invisible.

He found the third man after a few minutes. He was in charge of the main entrance. He walked between the different boxes abandoned there. John already knew how he would get that one.

He still hadn't located the fourth accomplice and was starting to doubt he was there. Then he saw a movement to his left. The man had just stepped out of some box room he hadn't noticed before. If the big yawns were any indication, they used it for resting.

John saw him going towards the entrance to replace the man in patrol there.

He observed the situation some more minutes, then went back to where he had left his bag.

He was ready. He called Finch as soon as he got back on the roof.

Finch immediately answered.

"John, how are things there?" Finch asked in a worried voice.

"I'll go inside in a few minutes," Reese informed him in an incredibly calm voice. "The situation is clear; I know how I will act. What have you got on your end?"

"We have been able to retrace the corruption chain thanks to Mr. Mozzie's document, but nothing to help us clear agent Burke. We have been able to find a connection between the arresting agent and the Senator. Agent Calloway's father was part of the corrupt cops, along with Mr. Caffrey's father and Senator Pratt, he was a captain then."

"I am also searching Senator Pratt's foundation. There are some unusual money transfers. Miss Morgan also told me she found out Senator Pratt got agent Calloway her position in the White Collar unit of New York. Probably to have her stop Burke's research on him."

"Finch, if there is any way to undermine agent Calloway, the Judge could be influenced. Ask Zoe to focus on her. Yet, our best option is still to find Neal's father. Any news?"

"Unfortunately, no. Still looking."

"Finch, one last thing. Did you record Sara's images? Can you make Keller believe, if he looks at the stream, that Sara is still at the factory?"

"I'll take care of that, Mr. Reese. I'll be ready in five minutes."

"Perfect, run the feed as soon as you're ready then."

"Be careful, Mr. Reese," Finch advised ending the call.

John called another number.

"I am going in now; I'll meet you at the rendez-vous point."

"I'll be there," the pilot, turned partner, answered.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_NY, FBI, Thursday 10:00 am (3:00 pm in London)_

Neal rode the elevator to the 21st floor with heaviness on his heart. He had never missed Peter so much. He hadn't been able to sleep that night. Reese had promised he would bring Sara back, but so many things could go wrong, even for a former military. He had finally crashed a few minutes before his alarm went off and he didn't hear it. He had awoken with a start a while later, feeling exhausted and more tense that the previous evening.

Keller was back from nowhere to turn his life into a nightmare, targetting, once again, the people he cared for. Why couldn't he just go after him directly! No, Keller was bright, even if that intelligence was only used for evil. He needed Neal to lead the operation and he used that part of his personality that he kept chiding him about: his humanity. First Peter, then Elizabeth, now Sara. That man was going to chase him for the rest of his life.

Maybe it was time to put an end to that… Neal was surprised by his own thoughts.

Of course, he would make sure Sara was safe before; he sincerely hoped John was as good as he seemed to be. Then… He knew how to use a gun even if he didn't like it. Maybe this time he could stretch his own rules… Some people didn't deserve to live.

The chime of the elevator told him he had arrived. He forced a smile on his lips and went to his desk, casting a glance to Peter's empty office.

Diana raised her eyes from her computer.

"Caffrey, taking advantage of Peter's absence to come in late? That's petty, even for you."

He gave her a tight smile. "Sorry, my alarm didn't go off. I'll catch up during my lunch break."

Diana frowned. That was not a typical Neal answer. She watched him as he settled and turned his computer on. He looked awful, as if he hadn't slept at all. He looked drawn and tense.

When he had begged to go back home after the hearing at the courthouse, she had been convinced that he was up to something. But she had checked his anklet. He had gone home walking, despite the distance; probably needing to relieve the pressure. He hadn't left his place since. She was responsible for the CI, she made sure to follow all the procedures.

She hadn't been too concerned by his tardiness this morning, especially since the anklet still put him at his place. But the smile on his lips was as fake as the green plants in the office, and he hadn't come up with any crazy excuse about being late.

She saw him look at a picture in his wallet. She was too far to see the face, but the red hair was a clear indication.

_Sara…_

She had left for London the same day Peter had been arrested. His father had also disappeared. The CI was probably feeling quite lonely. Of course Mozzie was around, but he wasn't the kind of people with which Neal could open up. Mozzie only trusted Peter so far –he was after all "the suit"– and Sara represented a danger for their beloved freedom. He probably wasn't that sorry that these two people had disappeared from Neal's life.

Although she enjoyed teasing him, Diana liked Neal. He was smart, fun, bright, charming. She felt bad seeing him like that.

She rose and went to Neal's side, leaning her hip on the desk.

"Hey…"

Neal jumped in surprised and put the wallet away. He hadn't heard her.

"Diana! Just waiting for my mailbox to open and I'll get to work immediately," he explained, thinking she was on his back again for being late. He moved the mouse to activate the screen.

Diana put her hand on Neal's wrist. "Neal…" she said softly.

He watched her, surprised. That gesture wasn't like her.

"I know things are different with Peter being away, but you do know Clinton and I have your back, right?"

Neal nodded. Diana pointed to the wallet with her chin.

"You had any news?"

During the four years they had worked together, Diana had had lots of time to study Caffrey. She knew his face better than her own, every single expression on it. Peter always said you couldn't read Neal when he talked to you. So, she had learned to watch him when he was alone, when he thought no one was looking. Even then, he had a perfect control on his face, but with time she had learned to read the minute changes, the light shudder of a lip, a sparkle in his eyes, a change in the perfect blue.

And Caffrey had just closed a door as thick as the one of the Federal Reserve. Her innocent question didn't justify such a reaction.

Neal winced, playing the dejected ex-boyfriend with an award winning talent.

"No… Not that I was expecting any." Then he added in a teasing tone, "she always had a thing for the British accent…"

Diana shook her head, astonished by the performance. He was  _really_  good… and hiding something again. Although it was clear he wouldn't say a word. She'd ask Jones to keep a close watch. What was Neal up to again? She decided to follow him on the light tone.

"Well, what do you know Caffrey... We don't all fall down to your knees."

She squeezed his wrist in a tender gesture belying the words. If he needed somebody to talk to, she would hear him. He thanked her with a nod and turned to his screen.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_London, Thursday 5:00 pm local time (noon in New York)_

"Show time," John whispered, putting the phone away.

* * *

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Alone against 4 mafia hitmen? Odds are not good for John…

Stay tuned


	7. Chapter 7

A/N. Get ready for some action!

This part hasn't been beta'd for English, so please forgive me for any mistake. If something doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll correct.

* * *

July 2017: now beta'd by Mysteryfan17: thank you very much!

_London, Thursday 5:00 pm local time (noon in New York)_

John went back inside the building, ready for action.

He removed his jacked that was bound to bother him in the action, opened his bag and chose his weapons carefully. His Sig Sauer with the silencer, extra chargers, two smoke grenades he slipped in his pants pockets. If he needed time, he could use them to hide Sara from her captors. He stowed the knife in his belt and put his gloves on to avoid leaving prints.

Casting one last glance down to confirm the men's positions, he focused on the operation.

He went down the catwalk silently toward the stairs. He stopped one last time, before going down.

He slipped between the boxes and reached the first man in seconds. He never saw John coming behind him. A secure arm around his neck, a brief movement and the man went down silently, his neck broken.

He hid the body behind some crates and searched him. No communication device. He only had a satellite phone, maybe to get in touch with Keller. John took it.

He then went to the room they used as resting place. He opened the door silently but was surprised by the big Russian who was coming out. He pushed the man back inside to close the door and mute the noise.

The man had moved fast, pulling out a knife. The fight started. A swift move had the knife cut John's upper arm, nothing too deep thankfully. He managed to disarm him and the fight went on, fists punching bodies. After a punch stronger than the previous, the Russian had the upper hand and had now his hands around John's neck, trying to strangle him. The hands were slowly choking him.

John pretended to pass out by releasing his muscles and his opponent relaxed the pressure for a second. Reacting swiftly, John punched his elbow strongly against the ribs behind him, drawing a big breath at the same time. His adversary grunted, surprised by the blow. Reese got his own knife out and before the man could move, he drove the knife to his midsection, turning the blade for maximum damage. The man crumbled on the ground.

John knelt for a second getting his breath back, and retrieved his knife from the body. Two down, two more to go.

He was angry against himself. The noise of the fight had probably alerted the two other accomplices. He had just lost his only advantage, surprise.

During the fight, he had been totally focused on his opponent, ignoring the surroundings. As his brain took notice of the outside world, he was overwhelmed by the noise coming from the jackhammers outside. He felt hopeful. If they had been that loud during the whole fight, maybe nobody had heard them.

He slowly opened the door, going back to the main room. The boxes allowed him to get quite close to the two men, still focused on their card game. He was close enough to hear them breathe.

The hiding part was over. He would need to come forward to get those last two. He was close, yet a wall reduced his angle. He only could shoot one of them from his position.

His decision was promptly made. He acted quickly, getting out of hiding and shooting the two men without hesitation.

As John was going towards Sara, he was suddenly shoved against the glass wall. He lost his gun, surprised by the unexpected attack and slightly stunned by the impact.

He had barely turned when the man, coming out of nowhere, started punching him. A second fist fight started. Something in the way the man moved, led John to think this fight was going to be harder. The man was taller and seemed to be in perfect shape. As for himself he had already been through a first strenuous fight.

Instinctively, John put himself between the man and Sara. The punches landed with strength and precision. Reese was losing ground. The man had the same training he had, but he was stronger, and younger.

Suddenly, the man managed to lift him off the ground and threw him against the glass wall a second time.

The wall exploded with the impact, and after going right through it, John landed heavily on the ground. He could feel shards embed in his back. His opponent didn't lose any time and started kicking him strongly. John did his best to protect his ribs. Giving up on the kicks, the man bent, hands opened toward his neck.

John tried to find a way out.  _Think_. He found a piece of glass, bigger than the others, under his hand. As soon as the man got close enough, his hand moved, driving the piece of glass in the man's neck.

His adversary yelled, getting up and instinctively pulling the glass out. But John's aim had been perfect. The jugular had been sliced open; nothing could stop the blood flow. In a few seconds, the man crumbled to the ground, agonizing.

John got up slowly. He felt like he had gone through a lawn mower. His back hurt like hell. But his mission wasn't over. Gathering what little strength he had, he went to the woman he had come for.

Inside the room, Sara was tense. She had witnessed the fight and was probably wondering if the stranger who had just taken down five men single handedly wasn't after all more dangerous than her holders.

John took his knife to cut the ties holding Sara to her chair, then released the gag. Sara immediately rubbed her wrists and winced. The zip ties had cut through the flesh.

"Who are you?" she asked her mysterious rescuer.

"Neal's… friend," Reese answered, hesitating on the word. Friend was probably stretching it, but he needed to soothe the young woman.

Sara watched him closely, her eyes going over the tall frame. That man didn't have much in common with Neal's usual contacts. He was dangerous, a killer obviously, exactly the opposite of Neal who hated any kind of violence.

"He's changed a lot in a few days," she whispered.

"I'll explain everything to you later. We need to leave now. A plane is waiting for us to go back to New York

"New York?" Sara exclaimed. "But…"

She lived in London now. Why did that man want to take her back to New York? She rose suddenly to step away. What if he wasn't there to save her? But the long hours spent tied up on a chair made her legs shiver and she stumbled. Reese immediately reached for her elbow.

"Easy… "

For a second, he thought she was going to pass out, then clearly reaching deep inside herself, she straightened. John gave her an admiring stare. Caffrey sure hadn't lied when he had said she was a fighter.

"Miss Ellis, my name is John. A man named Keller has organized your kidnapping to blackmail your friend Neal…"

"Keller?" Sara repeated. "I thought he was in jail."

"Apparently he is as good as your friend at getting out of them." He let go of the arm. "Can you walk or should I carry you?"

Sara took a step backward and shot him a hard stare.

"Mr.… John, I can take care of myself."

"Never doubted that. I've seen the faces of your captors… Let's go then."

Before they left the factory, John searched the four men he had just killed. He took the phones, then went up to the catwalk to get his stuff and get his jacket back on. Then they left the warehouse through the front door, after disabling the cameras.

Dirk was waiting for them, engine running.

On their way to the airport, John called Finch on their secure line.

"Finch, Miss Ellis is safe."

"Thank God," Finch whispered.

"We're going back to New York immediately. Let Caffrey know."

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_New York, FBI office, Thursday 1:00 pm (6:00 pm in London)_

Neal was doing his best to concentrate on the file in front of him. He didn't remember how many cups of bad coffee he had already drunk to stay awake.

He could feel Diana's look on him since his arrival, and Jones' as soon as she had to leave the room. Apparently his excuse for being late hadn't convinced Diana who seemed to think he was up to something. Feeling Calloway breathing down his neck was hard enough, now the two other agents were watching him too.

He read the document once more; the words still didn't make sense. He couldn't help it, his mind kept drifting back to Sara, tied to a chair, John dressed in black, face hard, promising he would bring her back. London had never seemed so far away, and minutes had never been so long.

The phone John had given him buzzed on his desk. He jumped in apprehension. He picked it up with a shaky hand and had to press the button twice before he managed to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Caffrey, this is Harold Finch. I just talked to Mr. Reese. Miss Ellis is safe."

Neal felt all his blood leave his body; if he hadn't been sitting he would have probably fallen down. "Thank God."

"Unfortunately I do not have much information for now. Mr. Reese called me on their way to the airport. I'm hoping to have more news once they're in the air. I will keep you informed."

"Thank you, Finch. Thank you," Neal repeated overwhelmed with relief.

Finch ended the call without a word, but Neal didn't care. He put the phone down and saw Diana squinting at him. He gave her a small smile and went to the bathroom.

He washed his face and looked at his reflection. He looked awful; no wonder Diana kept watching him.

Sara was safe, alive. He'd never be able to thank John enough.

As for Keller…

His face got darker. He had shot Keller once. The hardest part had come from the terrible headache, after he had been knocked out by a Raphael painting. After all that time, he still didn't know if the pain was more intellectual than physical. Although the bruises on his face testified to the strength of the impact.

He could do it again…

The last time he had pointed a gun at someone, Peter had stopped him. This time, he wouldn't be around; he doubted John would prevent him from shooting.

That morning, when he had left the loft, he had searched for his bodyguard. It took some time. She was just as good as John. But he was good too, and he had finally spotted her. He needed a gun; he was pretty sure Shaw could get him one.

He had made his decision. He wouldn't allow Keller to turn his life into a nightmare again.

He dried his face and went back to his desk, calmer now; he knew what was coming next.

A mail had arrived on his personal mailbox. It was concise.

"10:00 PM, UNDER THE QUEENSBORO BRIDGE. COME ALONE."

John would barely be back…

Mozzie had taken care of the treasure, but they actually didn't need to load the truck. He would drive it to the meeting point. He had an advantage; Keller would never suspect he had a weapon.

A cold resolution had settled on his body. He wondered for a moment if John felt that same calm when he operated. Expect the man seemed to be in that frame of mind all the time.

He gave the time and place of the meeting to Finch, then turned back to his file. Now that Sara was safe, maybe he could concentrate enough to find the evidence in the file he was studying.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_London, Thursday 6:00 pm local time (1:00 pm in New York)_

As agreed, the plane was ready to leave the moment they got to the airport. Thirty minutes later they were in the air.

Reese unfastened his seat belt and went to the back of the plane. Sara tried to unfasten her own belt and realized she was shivering. She clenched her teeth, trying to open the buckle with two hands with no success. She fought against the tears. Now that the danger was gone, the adrenaline had washed away and fear was filling all her body.

Seeing the young woman shaking, John knelt by her side, unfastened her seat belt and put a gentle hand to her shoulder. With a whimper, she threw herself against him, wrapping her arm against his back, holding him in a tight hold. Wincing at the sudden pain when she touched his wounded back, Reese put a comfort arm around her shoulders, letting the red head cry over his jacket, clumsily patting her back.

A few minutes later, she pushed away and rubbed her eyes to clear the tears.

"Sorry," she apologized.

Reese raised an eyebrow. Her reaction was quite normal, seeing her break down now didn't come as a surprise. This young woman was indeed surprising; he could understand why Caffrey loved her. He went to the back of the plane to get the first aid kit, then sat by her side.

"Let me take care of those wrists."

He disinfected the wounds carefully, admiring her strength once more, as she only let out some moans although he knew he was hurting her. He cleaned her face next. Some blows had already changed color; the split lip was still sensitive but didn't require any particular treatment.

"I must look awful…"

Reese smiled, glad she was feeling better, enough to consider her appearance.

"You are beautiful, Miss Ellis. Neal is a very lucky man."

He threw away the stained compresses used on Sara and went to the back of the plane to take care of his own wounds.

He removed his jacket and checked his arm. The knife had been as sharp as a razor blade. It had cut through the t-shirt like butter. But the wound was neat, a simple cut, not very deep. He disinfected it and put a bandage to stop the bleeding. He checked his neck on the small mirror. That had been a close one… He winced when he touched the sensitive area. On second thought he had been lucky. Keller's hit men were killers; only his long experience had saved him this time.

On the other hand, his back was hurting like hell. It felt like hundreds of needles were pinching him. He couldn't ask Miss Ellis to play nurse. She had been through enough trauma. Yet he needed someone to take a look, he hadn't even been able seat back against the armchair for take-off. His back was probably full of glass shards.

Sara was surprised to see John come back, bare-chested. He went to the cockpit. She saw his back and barely held an exclamation, his whole back was bloody.  _The glass wall_ , she realized.

Dirk jumped in surprise when he saw John entering the cabin. His passenger had a bandage on his arm and several bruises on his chest.

"John?" he said startled.

"Dirk, I'm going to need your services again. Did you get any chance to practice your first aid skills since you left the army?"

The pilot raised a surprised eyebrow and John turned slightly, pointing to his back. Dirk couldn't help a sympathetic wince. He pushed a button on his dashboard and rose to his feet.

"Bill, you have the conn. Don't you dare try any looping," he added with a mock menacing stare.

Bill had a small smile and John guessed he had just witnessed a private joke.

"Loopings?" he couldn't help asking Dirk as they left the cabin.

"It's part of the standard procedure to test new planes… usually without any passenger on board. It allows to test the resistance of the machine."

"You're a test pilot?"

"No. I only make test flights for potential buyers." He smiled with a thoughtful glance. "Mr. Wren had quite… specific requests."

John wasn't really surprised, but he wondered what Finch had asked for. The two men went to the back of the main cabin, Sara watching John with a worried face.

John turned one of the seats to give Dirk access to his back. After observing it carefully, the pilot went to get a cup, then got tweezers and gauze from the first aid kit.

"Ready?" he asked before starting the painful process.

John nodded.

Industriously, piece by piece, Dirk removed the glass shards embedded in the back. Some were small and superficial, others were bigger needing him to push the tweezers deeper to get them. He applied pressure on every wound to stop the bleeding as he went. John didn't flinch, but Dirk could hear him inhale sharply sometimes when the pain got more pronounced. He tried to lighten the situation.

"You do know you're supposed to open windows before actually going through them…"

"I'll remember to tell that to the next person who throws me against a glass wall."

"I guess it could have been worse," Dirk commented.

John turned his head to watch him, a skeptical look on his face.

"From what I can see, it is obvious the glass exploded when you went through it. There is no really big gash. I believe most of these pieces got in when you fell on them.

"That's one way of seeing it," John replied.

Dirk pointed to a bruise. "Nice boot mark."

John watched his ribs a bit more closely. The kicks to his chest were starting to change color. He had been lucky, no broken ribs or internal bleeding.

"How many were they?"

"Five eventually. One of them appeared out of thin air. I was only expecting four men."

Dirk remained silent. Seeing the marks on the body of his passenger, he could tell the fight had been vicious. He should have insisted to help him. He didn't know what this was about, but it did look like a hostage liberation. He had seen the bandages on the woman's wrists.

"How's the lady doing?" he asked in a low voice.

"Surprising well considering what she's been through."

Dirk examined the back carefully. "I think I got them all. You should get it checked out in a couple of days though."

He sprayed the antiseptic liberally on the wounds. John hissed straightening up, it felt like his whole back had suddenly burst into flames.

"Sorry," Dirk apologized. He wiped the excess liquid, satisfied most cuts were not bleeding anymore.

"Thank you, Dirk."

"You're welcome."

He got up, stored the kit, throwing the cup and stained gauze in the trash can; then went back to the flight cabin shaking his head slowly, amazed. He couldn't believe the level of pain tolerance of his passenger. He was a former military, and as such had been through some rough patches, but this was way beyond anything he could fathom.

After putting on a new t-shirt, John came back and picked up the phone to contact Harold.

"Finch, could you try to reach Neal? I'm sure Miss Ellis would be happy to talk to him."

A few seconds later, a new voice joined the conversation. He smiled and handed the phone to Sara.

"Neal?" she said in a strangled voice.

"Sara?"

Reese rose from his seat and went to the pilot's cabin, giving his passenger some privacy. He hoped Finch would do the same. After checking with the pilots their estimated time of arrival, he went back to the main cabin.

"Neal, I'll talk to you later. Can't wait to see you," she smiled. "I love you too… Bye."

She raised her eyes to Reese and handed him the phone back.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice.

John took the phone back. "Finch, what's our status?"

"We have clearly established, with solid evidence, the whole corruption chain in which the Senator was involved since his years in the Police. He actually never stopped. If the file we put together with Mr. Mozzie was to get in the wrong hands, there would be dozens of senators, several policemen and business men facing a delicate situation. Certainly quite a few contracts for Miss Morgan," Finch added.

John couldn't help a smile thinking of the fixer.

"As usual, her assistance has been most helpful," Finch said. "She has found elements that should allow the Defense to undermine agent Calloway's testimony. We have uncovered money transfers from one of the Senator's accounts to Ms Calloway's. Quite large amounts, most especially a money transfer during a confirmed visit to Atlanta by the Senator, where agent Calloway was in office at that time. Miss Morgan did some digging and found out an incident in a night club that was hushed by the local media. Apparently, the Senator went too far with a female employee."

"Another man who thinks he is above everything," John commented.

"We can prove Senator Pratt and agent Calloway knew each other, that she got bribes from him, at the very least one to cover him up. This being said, why wouldn't she purposefully twist the facts of the case to charge agent Burke with the Senator's murder?"

"Any chance the employee could come forward?" John asked.

"No. She moved to Australia," Finch answered. "One more thing, Mr. Reese. Also thanks to Miss Morgan, we will be able to give the Defence some elements concerning District Attorney Dennis. One of her friends, attorney Harvey Specter, sent us a file about an old case on which the DA had neglected some facts which had led to the imprisonment of an innocent."

"Glad to see you have new developments, Finch. Still I feel like it could prove unsufficient if we want agent Burke to be totally cleared. The informations you have gathered will undermine the prosecution, but not prove the innocence of Burke. We need to keep looking for Neal's father. He's the only one that can allow agent Burke to get back his position in the FBI."

"I know, John, I know…" Finch concluded with a slightly worried tone. "In any case, all the documents we have will be given to agent Burke's lawyer. I don't know what she'll do with them. Let's hope, it will help her defend her client in the best way."

Reese heard the familiar clicks of Finch's keyboard. The sound was comforting. He longed to be back at the library.

"Two more informations, Mr. Reese. Trusted men will come to pick up Miss Ellis at the airport. A helicopter will be waiting for you, ready to take you to the same heliport you already used. It's the closest to the rendez-vous point given by Keller, underneath the Queensboro Bridge."

"Thank you, Finch. Ask Shaw to position herself at the meeting point. I need her to case the place and maybe provide some support. I highly doubt Keller will come alone. Bye now; I'll trying resting a bit before tonight."

John ended the call and closed his eyes a moment. Weariness was gaining fast but he needed to keep an eye on Sara. Nevertheless, he allowed his body to relax; they were safe in the plane. Yet, there were so many things to care of…

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_New York, FBI building, 5:00 pm_

When he left the office at the end of the day, Neal looked for Shaw and found her quite easily. He went straight to her.

From up close, the woman was scary. Brown haired, short, she seemed made of steel. Her face, though pretty, seemed angry. As if she held a grudge against the whole world.

"Hello," he said extending his hand.

Shaw seemed surprised and hesitated before shaking the hand back.

"We're not supposed to talk?" Neal asked.

"No, not really," Shaw answered. "I'd rather keep my distance. It's easier for me, if I'm not seen."

"The meeting has been set; I doubt Keller is watching me now."

"Yes, I know. We will be there."

"I need a gun," Neal explained, ready to use all his tricks to convince her.

"Yes, of course."

Shaw put her arm to her back, then seemed to realize that handing out a gun in plain daylight in the middle of the street might get them some stares. She pointed to the side and they moved to a smaller street.

She took the gun, checked the bullets and gave it to him.

"Do you need more ammunition?" she asked in a cold voice.

"No, I'll be fine."

If he didn't kill Keller with one clip, the outcome didn't leave much room to surprise.

"We'll get him," Shaw informed him. "Go back home."

Neal slid the gun in his back and stopped a taxi. He wanted to go home, let Shaw figure out how to follow him. As the taxi drove away, he looked back to watch her. In some ways, she was even scarier than John. A smaller version, but just as deadly. Maybe even more. He had seen a human side to John; Shaw looked like a killing machine, devoid of any feeling or emotion.

Sara was safe, somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean. He needed to call Mozzie. If the meeting with Keller came to a tragic end, he needed to make sure she would be fine. He was surprised by how clear everything looked. He hated violence, yet he was about to kill a man…

He didn't recognize himself.

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Will Neal actually kill Keller?

Stay tuned…


	8. Chapter 8

A/N. Okay... So apparently some of your are worried about Neal's decision... Let's see what happens.

Again, not beta'd for English. Sorry

* * *

_New York, Teterboro airport, Thursday 8:00 pm_

8:00 pm, the Falcon landed in New York, barely twenty four hours after it had left for Europe. Once again, Reese could only praise Finch's organization skills.

Too tense to sleep, Sara had spent the flight looking at the inflight videos, without really watching them. John hadn't dared fall asleep, keeping a watchful eye on the young woman. He knew the risks related to a hostage situation. Even though she did seem to react better than most people, she could still break down without notice. The return flight had seemed very long.

For John a "new" day started. The exchange had been set up at 10:00 pm under the Queensboro Bridge. The game wasn't over yet; he now had to get rid of Keller. He barely had time to meet Neal at the rendez-vous point.

Holding Sara's hand to the last steps of the plane, he turned to her.

"Sara, these men will help you through customs, then take you to Mozzie and my employer. I'm meeting Neal to put an end to this tragic story."

"John… Thank you. Please bring me Neal back alive… And you too!"

"I'll do my best, Sara."

She watched John as he climbed inside the helicopter waiting for him.  _What an extraordinary man_ , she thought.

He had put his own life in danger although he didn't know her. She had been far too restless to talk to him during the flight. She realized she didn't know anything about him.

He had introduced himself as a "friend". How could Neal know such a man? That was bound to be an interesting conversation. But thanks to him, she would be able to have it. When her keepers had removed the blindfold, apparently not caring that she could identify them, she had understood that she wouldn't make it out alive. She then had thought back to the happy moments of her life, the people she loved, the ones she had lost. Her close brush with death had given her a new taste for life; she promised herself to do everything she could to be sure it would be a nice happy one. She only hoped John would bring her back the only piece missing to that happiness: Neal.

John had jumped in the car waiting for him at the heliport; he was now driving towards the Queensboro Bridge. The late hour at least made sure he didn't hit traffic. At 9:55 pm, he stepped into the shadows, underneath the bridge. Keller was already waiting with three men. John could see a truck arriving, probably Neal.

"Shaw, you there?" John called.

"John! About time you showed up. Your help will be needed. Keller doesn't do things halfway. I have counted six men, including the three with him right now. I think he wants to get what's in the truck then kill Caffrey," Shaw exposed.

"Exactly my thought too. Let's try to change that outcome now that I brought his fiancée back. How do you see things?"

"Considering where they are positioned, I can get four of them down from my position. The three in the shadows and the one on the farthest left. Neal will probably be in my way to get the other ones."

"I'll take care of those two and Keller then."

Shaw detailed very precisely how she would shoot her targets. It was quite a complicated shot, but John trusted her totally.

His own mission wasn't much simpler. He needed to get as close as possible and remain invisible, get Neal out of the crossfire while neutralizing Keller's two accomplices. The weak point of the plan was getting Keller. Yet, he had studied the man, he loved gloating.

John was sure he would feel confident, thinking he had the advantage with his hidden men. Therefore, he probably wouldn't shoot before he got to mock Neal one last time.

The truck stopped, Neal stepped out. Finch had told him John and Shaw would be there to take care of Keller during the exchange. They actually hadn't even loaded the treasure. Mozzie would be able to send it back to safety immediately. He looked around him, not seeing any of his guardian angels. They were invisible. He couldn't help feeling for the gun in his pocket. He hated violence, but he had made his decision, Keller wouldn't make it out of there alive. He could live with that guilt.

"Hi, Keller. The treasure is in the truck. Check it and let Sara go," Neal told with a level voice, lying had never been a problem.

"Be a little bit patient, Neal. So eager to get rid of me. We're old friends; we've got lots of things to discuss."

No one had seen the dark shadow creeping closer. Neither did they hear it whisper, " _now_ ".

A hundred yards away, Shaw fired her silenced weapon and three silhouettes fell silently in the night.

As soon as the first shot was fired, John ran towards Neal. Precise silenced shots got rid of Keller's men. Surprised by this unexpected development, Keller withdrew his weapon at the same moment Neal was tackled to the ground by a black silhouette.

John rolled over and stood up immediately holding his weapon, aimed at Keller. He stood in front of Neal.

"You're okay, Neal?" he asked.

"Yeah… yeah," Neal answered, shaken up by the speed of what had just happened.

He knew John was supposed to be close by, but he hadn't seen him before a dark shadow had pushed him down. The speed of the intervention had left him aghast. He remained on the ground, put his hand in his pocket, ready to shoot.

Keller had straightened up and was aiming at them. One of the two men got up by his side, hurt but still alive. John berated himself for missing a shot.

As expected, Keller talked to Neal. He pressed a key on his phone and showed the screen.

"Neal, you didn't get the rules, did you? They were quite simple though. Sara is my prisoner. I made sure of that," Keller answered.

"Yes, about that…" Reese commented.

"All right then, first one to die is Sara."

He took a phone and dialed a number. A shrill broke the silence of the night. Surprised, Keller looked at the two men in front of him.

The man in black lifted a lip in a cold smile. Keller saw him reach in his pocket.

Five phones were thrown to his feet.

"I think they are not available," the man coldly informed. "As far as I know, by now, they're down in London's morgue, or maybe your friends got rid of the bodies in the river… And thank you for giving us the location to where you held Sara, by the way."

"How…?"

"You're too full of yourself Keller. Giving us that link was your biggest mistake, we've been able to track it back and send you a new feed. Sara is safe."

Keller still thought he had the upper hand and called for the men in the shadows. Silence was his only answer.

Reese gave him a fake sorry wince.

"Yeah, about that… Your men are out of commission too," the tall man announced. "Now, Keller, this is between your man, you and me."

Suddenly the third man dropped dead. Reese watched him going down almost in slow motion, then raised his head with a little smile.

"Or I guess, just you and me," the man in black corrected, tightening his grip on his weapon.

Keller dropped his gun and raised his hands, losing his posture.

"Okay, you win. Let me go and I will forget you exist, Neal. Our paths will never cross again," Keller promised, stepping back, ready to run away.

The tall man came closer and put his gun between them. He bent his head to whisper to his ear in a cold voice.

"I don't particularly like killing people, especially in cold blood. But you've made one last wrong decision Keller. You got a third party involved, an innocent one furthermore; you ran your own personal vendetta. You hit a woman. That will be your last wrong deed on earth."

Keller knew in that instant the man was going to shoot. His killer's eyes didn't even blink as he pulled the trigger. Keller's body slowly fell down, dead.

Reese put his gun away and gave a hand to Neal to help him up. Shaw appeared from the shadows.

"Thank you," Neal whispered.

John tilted his head and gave him a reproachful stare. Neal winced and took the gun from his pocket. He handed it to Shaw who promptly put it in her waist band.

"Shaw…" Reese complained.

The young woman gave him a cold stare, challenging him to reproach her gesture. Keller deserved to die, giving a chance to Neal to do it personally was only fair.

While Neal tried to come to terms with what had just happened, John and Shaw gathered the bodies in the truck Neal had brought. He heard Shaw saying to John that she would get rid of the corpses. The efficiency of their moves as they lifted the bodies and put them away made it obvious they were quite experienced at it. He didn't want to dwell too long on that aspect. He was facing a world he didn't know… one he actually didn't want to know.

As Shaw drove the truck away, John proposed to Neal to drive him to the library to meet with Sara. He really wanted to go back. He needed Finch's help to take care of his last wound. Neal and Shaw hadn't noticed, but a bullet had reached him when the shooting had started. One of Keller's men had got him right before he had tackled Neal down. The adrenaline had kept him on his feet, but it was draining fast and he would barely be making it back to the library before his body gave up on him.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

As soon as they entered the library hall, Neal removed his hood and went running up the stairs.

Reese climbed them much more slowly, wishing Finch would consider an elevator someday, calling into his last strength reserve to go up. The strain of the last hours and the different wounds made Finch's office look miles away. He heard Neal shouting Sara's name.

Neal ran in the room yelling his ex-fiancée's name. He took her into his arms, hugging her tightly, as if it would keep her from disappearing.

"Sara… my god, you're here… I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry…" Apologizing again and again, Neal didn't let go of his embrace.

John made it to the corridor and leaned against the wall by the grate. Neal and Sara were holding each other so tight he doubted there was any air between them. He smiled; happy they were together, surprised by a light wave of jealousy realizing he would never know that feeling. If this sad story could help them move forward, they could be happy together, letting go of that "complicated" past Neal had mentioned.

Bear came to greet him, happy to see his master, but Reese only brushed his ears lightly. He was sure that if he bent down to rub him more thoroughly, he wouldn't be able to get up. Sitting in front of his screen, Finch stood up hurriedly when he saw the unusual behavior of his employee. Usually both man and dog tumbled on the ground, not caring for the suit or the dubious cleanliness of the floors.

"John," he exclaimed in a strangled voice.

Something in his tone had Neal raise his head, and he turned to the door. He let go of Sara and rushed to John, worried by the greyish look on the face. Finch went to them in that awkward step he had when he tried to walk faster in spite of his aching leg.

Together they helped Reese to one of the rooms Finch had set up as a sort of infirmary, Mozzie, Sara and Bear close on their heels. John grunted feeling crowded by so many people around him.

Neal seemed to understand the problem and nodded to Mozzie.

"Mozz, please."

The short man didn't need to be asked twice. The ex-agent didn't look in great shape and he didn't like being close to wounded or sick people. He took Sara's arm and led her to the room where he had been living for the past two days. Bear obeyed the short order from Finch to go lie down.

John was sprawled on the couch; Neal was kneeling by his side to examine him. Finch brought their first aid kit and gave latex gloves to Neal. He was used to taking care of John, but it always bothered him deeply. Neal had opened the jacket to have a closer look; he didn't seem to mind taking care of the ex-agent.

Neal lifted the t-shirt and winced in apology when John hissed as the cloth rubbed his side. He helped him sit up to remove the jacket and Finch had a strangled scream when he saw the bloodied bandage on his employee's arm.

"John…"

"Little souvenir from London," Reese whispered. "Sorry, Finch, I didn't get you anything," he added.

"The moment hardly calls for levity, Mr. Reese!"

"Quite the contrary Harold… Keller was deadly serious." He grunted when Neal moved the t-shirt to examine the wound more carefully.

"John, I think you should see a doctor…" Neal suggested.

He knew a visit to a hospital was out of the question; doctors needed to report bullet wounds, but if Finch could get a jet ready in thirty minutes, they probably had a doctor they could reach out to.

Reese lifted his head to look at his abdomen. The wound didn't seem to worry him and he let his head drop back against the head rest.

"Flesh wound, nothing serious."

"John, the bullet went right through!"

"Exactly, nothing to dig out. I could probably take care of it myself. It only needs to be disinfected and covered."

The quiet calm with which he explained the painful process froze Neal's blood. They belonged to worlds so different, they almost lived on different planets. Mozzie had relayed him some of the information Finch had shared about John's past. He was starting to think they had barely scratched the surface.

"It's your body…" Neal mumbled.

He took the necessary stuff and made himself comfortable to treat the wound. He started cleaning the blood around the injury, then sprayed the disinfectant directly on the wound.

Reese jumped with a half swear in pure reflex at the pain.

"Damn, Neal! Thanks for the warning!" he shot giving him a dark look.

Neal had an apologetic wince and waited for John to get his breath back. The tall man took a deep breath, then sat back against the arm chair bracing himself.

John berated himself for the outburst. It was only a through and through flesh wound, nothing he hadn't faced before. Hell, he had gone through much worse without even blinking! His body was… And then it hit him. His body had just given up on him. Too much for one single day. The fist fights, the knife, the glass window,the long flight back, Keller... He was running on the fumes, hell probably on the fumes of the fumes by now, no wonder a single spray of disinfectant had made him want to scream his lungs out.

He inhaled sharply as Neal applied pressure to his side, probably trying to stop the bleeding. His body shook with the strain. He unconsciously tried to escape the pressure, pushing his body against the arm chair, only to be reminded of the injuries in his back. He hissed grabing the chair with his hand. He felt Neal's hands on the wound, getting the borders together to apply a butterfly strip probably. John felt a whimper coming up his throat, then a welcomed darkness engulfed him.

After seeing John brace himself, Neal had gone on treating the injury. It really needed some stitching, but that was beyond his skills; furthermore having been on the receiving end not that long ago, he didn't want to inflict that additional pain to his savior. After having stopped the bleeding, he used some butterfly strips to close the holes as well as he could.

He suddenly realized that the tremors that occasionally shook the body had stopped. He raised his head and got his answer: John had passed out. Finch had a hand on his shoulder, his face wearing a pained look.

Neal finished bandaging the wound and pulled the t-shirt back down. He looked at the stained arm and gave a look to Finch.

"Yes, it would probably be a good idea to dress that wound now. Might as well take advantage of his unconsciousness to treat him without inflicting more pain."

Neal quickly changed the dressing in the arm. He wondered if Reese had taken care of that himself, the wound had been flawlessly bandaged. The man was an ex-military, first aid training was part of their skills. He suddenly realized who had treated Sara's wrists.

He rose with a sigh, disposing of the gloves. Finch came back with a blanket. John awoke with a start when he felt the weight on his body. He blinked and grunted as if chastising himself for passing out. He made a move to stand up, but Finch stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Finch…" Reese complained.

"John!" Finch answered in a dry voice. "Give your body a chance to heal."

"How are things on the Burke case? I need to find James."

"You need to rest, John. You are in no shape to go looking for anyone."

He gave him a hard look, not giving him a choice. John nodded in resignation. He hated being on the bench, but for now his body couldn't follow his mind. He closed his eyes and was asleep before he could even ask to be awakened when they got news.

"I've never seen anyone with such a pain tolerance level… How does he take it?" Neal said in a low voice.

"No idea… I've seen him coming down from a rooftop, a bullet in his stomach, another one in his leg, literally leaving a trail of blood behind him… yet the only thing he was worried about was that I didn't come to get him as it could have been dangerous for me." Finch was surprised by his own confession about that painful memory. He had really feared for John's life that day.

"I hate guns," Neal confessed.

"So do I. John told me he doesn't particularly likes them either, but that if anyone has to be pointing one, he'd rather be the one doing it…"

The two men watched the ex-military for a few seconds, then went back to the main room. They still had work to do.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

They found Mozzie looking at a screen. Sara was sitting on the couch, absentmindedly rubbing Bear's head.

"Neal?" Mozzie enquired standing up.

Reese had called Finch after their meeting with Keller, but Mozzie only had the broad lines. Neal answered with a wince. Even if Keller did deserve what had happened, death wasn't something he faced easily. Now that the adrenaline rush had vanished, he was wondering how he could have considered killing Keller. The moment he had asked for that gun seemed to belong to a different history, as if it wasn't him who had made the decision.

"Any news from James?" he asked, avoiding the real question.

Finch went to his keyboard.

"We have been able to trace him to the East coast." Seeing Neal opening his eyes in surprise, he explained. "I have been able to access different files about him, and about Sam, someone close to Ellen."

Neal scoffed. "James pretended he was Sam to get close to me. But Sam has been dead for years."

"Yes, Mr. Caffrey. But everyone has habits; they're the ones that betray us. Mr. Bennett has his own, which enabled me to track his purchases. I should be able to locate him precisely pretty soon."

Neal thanked him with a nod.

"Meanwhile," Finch carried on, "I think you should take care of Miss Ellis. She needs to rest." He pointed to the young women sitting on the couch.

Sara's eyes were unfocused, her hand scratching the ears of a very happy malinois.

Neal came to her side and crouched. "Sara?"

The sound of his voice made her come back from her lost world and she threw herself in his arms.

"Neal."

"Everything is all right, honey." He hugged her softly. "Come on, let's go home." He helped her rise, not letting go of her.

Finch turned to the exit, picking up the hoods.

"I'll drive you." He turned to Mozzie. "Mozzie, I think you can go now. I don't see any reason for you to hide anymore."

"About time!" Mozzie exclaimed, grabbing one of the hoods. Then, he had a small wince. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I resent being locked up."

"You were not being locked up, Mr. Mozzie. We were just taking care of your safety."

"If you say so…"

Neal shook his head with a smile. He had talked to Mozzie several times in the past day, usually to give a patient ear to his complaints. He couldn't wait for the long version of his stay in the library. The story was bound to be interesting. He was going to need more wine…

They went down the stairs and put the black hoods on, not waiting for Finch to ask them to. He took them to his car, then drove away.

Sara rested her head against Neal shoulder; he wrapped his arms around her.

"You want to tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

He doubted she really wanted to discuss that painful memory, but getting it out on the open could only be beneficial.

"It happened so fast…" she started.

"They were professionals, Sara. You didn't stand a single chance."

"I managed to reach for my baton. I know I got a few hits, but there were too many of them." She shivered in Neal's arm. "Then they covered my head in a hood."

Finch straightened behind the wheel and cast a glance to the rearview mirror. The one she was wearing now probably didn't help much.

"You can remove the hood, Miss Ellis. I am sorry for the inconvenience I caused."

Neal didn't need to be told twice and promptly removed Sara's hood and his own.

"They took my baton," Sara complained.

Neal couldn't help a little laugh. She seemed more desperate by the loss of her baton than her close brush with death. Her priorities seemed a little mixed up.

"I'll get you a new one," he promised, hugging her tighter.

They remained in silence for the rest of the drive and Finch dropped Neal and Sara in front of the house.

"Thank you, Finch. I hope John will get better."

"Oh, he'll be fine. I wouldn't be surprised to find him walking around when I return," he groused. Reese often seemed to lack any sense of self preservation.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

The couple went slowly up the stairs. After closing the door, Neal wrapped his arms around Sara, pulling her tight against him.

"Sara, I was so scared for you."

He kissed her head softly, then stood back to watch her. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired..."

"Are you hungry? Have you even eaten anything?"

Sara seemed to think about it. "I didn't want any of the food they gave me. I was afraid it might be drugged."

"You didn't eat anything since you were kidnapped? Neal exclaimed.

"I had something in the plane back."

Neal growled. Finch had probably arranged for some food for his employee, but with his military past the man could probably eat anything.

"So, what about a nice bath while I'll prepare something for you?"

Sara's eyes shone with pleasure and he gave her a brilliant smile.

"Now, that's my Sara," he said giving her a little peck on the lips.

He accompanied her to the couch.

"Give me a minute; I'll get your bath ready."

He went to the bathroom, glad that he still had some of Sara's stuff from her last stay before leaving. He prepared a nice foamy bath, hung a thick bathrobe on the door and went back to the living room.

His heart jumped in his chest when he saw the empty couch, and couldn't keep a scream. "Sara!"

"Out here," a voice answered from the terrace.

He let out a shivering sigh and went outside, wrapping his arms around her. He couldn't keep from touching her.

"I'm all right, Neal," Sara said softly; she could feel Neal's heart beating wildly in his chest.

"I was so scared…" he repeated.

Sara understood he wasn't talking only about her recent disappearance from the couch.

"I gathered that Keller wouldn't be a problem anymore."

"No..."

Sara looked at the rooftops. "How long do you figure it takes before this view gets boring?"

"More than four years, that's for sure."

He watched the wonderful view that he could paint with his eyes closed; he did still find it overwhelming. He frowned when he noticed a shadow on the opposite terrace, then smiled.  _Shaw_. His personal guardian angel was still on watch. Reese –or most probably Finch, John was out of the count for now– had probably thought things weren't totally safe yet. Did they think James might be around?

"Your bath is ready," he whispered in her ear.

He accompanied her to the door, then went back to prepare a light meal. Soup, some cheese and bread should be enough. Sara was exhausted; her stomach wasn't up for anything heavier.

She came back a while later, wrapped in the big white bathrobe.

"That was wonderful. Thank you, Neal." She sat at the table. "Should I be worried about the rose scented bath products on your shelves?" she asked with an impish smile.

Neal's throat tightened. Actually, he hadn't had the time to take care of that. Sara had left the day Peter had been arrested; he had had other things to worry about.

"Probably forgotten by one of my admirers…" he answered in a teasing tone.

She hit his arm and he answered with a smug glance, glad to see their relationship hadn't changed. Sara plunged her spoon in the soup bowl.

"Mmmm, this is delicious, Neal." She drank her soup, ate some cheese. "You're perfect. The bath, the soup, the cheese…"

"You could have that every day, Sara; it would only take one word from you…"

She lifted her head, her eyes shining with tears. "Neal…"

He put a finger on her lips. "Don't say anything. Just eat."

She finished her meal in silence. Neal got a glass of water for himself and turned back. Sara's eyes were closed, her head resting against the chair. Neal had a tender smile.

"Sara," he woke her up softly. "Come on. Up. Let's get you to bed."

She didn't say a word and let Neal take her to the room. He covered her gently with the blanket.

"Sleep tight."

"Stay…"

He didn't need to be asked twice and promptly got rid of his clothes. He slipped under the sheets and wrapped his arms around her.

"Neal, I…"

"Hush. Just go to sleep." He brushed her hair tenderly and Sara fell asleep again.

He watched her sleeping. Sara, in his arms again. When she had told him she was going to London, he would have liked to be able to stop time. He would have liked their relationship to be so clear that her departure wasn't even a question.

"Someday, Sara, I will tell our children what you had me go through before marrying me. You're not going to look good, you know…"

Sara moaned, and Neal wondered if she had heard him and was complaining. That wouldn't be surprising. He put a soft kiss on her forehead.

"But that's okay. I'll go over all the obstacles you'll put in my way. Sara Ellis, I promise, this time I'm not letting you slip away."

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Things turned out fine for Neal, what about Peter?

Stay tuned…

* * *

Shooting, Hurt/Comfort, Romance... Let us know what you thought of this chapter ;-)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N. Will they manage to set Peter free...

Not beta'd for English, please forgive me for any language error. I'm still French...

* * *

_NY, Finch's library, Friday 6:00 am_

John woke up with a grunt. His whole body ached. He turned to get up and looked at the couch in surprise. He couldn't remember getting there. In any case, spending the night lying down instead of sitting could only have been beneficial, even if for the moment every single muscle was complaining.

He went to the main room where he knew Finch would be sitting. Didn't that man ever sleep?

Finch frowned when he heard his heavy step.

"Mr. Reese, how are you feeling?"

Reese mused for a second, then decided not to answer that particular question. First he didn't want to worry Finch more than he was already, second he didn't want to hear him telling him to go home and rest. A shower, a coffee, a Donut… and he would be fine.

He went to their kitchen area and blessed Finch for making coffee even though he didn't drink any. He also helped himself to painkillers; one of the numerous advantages at having Finch around, the pharmacy was always well stocked.

"What's the situation Finch?" he asked coming back to the room, a coffee in one hand, munching on a muffin.

Harold's lips went tight, showing his displeasure but knowing that the ex-agent wouldn't accept his compassion.

"Mr. Caffrey went back home with Miss Ellis. Mr. Mozzie was quite happy to be allowed to leave the library." Reese opened his mouth but Finch answered the question before he had a chance to talk, "Miss Shaw volunteered to keep an eye on the apartment in case Keller had had a back-up plan."

Reese nodded and gulped some coffee.

"The good news is that I have finally located Mr. Bennett. He is in Atlantic City."

"Hidden in plain sight… interesting." Reese swallowed the last of his muffin, washed it down with the coffee. "I'll go get him. Let me grab a shower and I'm gone."

"Mr. Reese, I have a helicopter ready and obtained an authorization to use the casino's landing pad."

"Your efficiency is a source of perpetual wonder, Finch."

"I haven't managed to get a pilot, but I assumed you wouldn't mind the 127 miles."

"On the contrary, it will be nice to fly again."

He went to their bathroom after taking some clothes from the stock he kept at the library. He checked himself in the mirror. He looked downright scary. He noticed the bandage on his arm had been changed; Caffrey probably. His back was crisscrossed with cuts, which painfully reminded their presence when the water hit them. He didn't have time to take care of that for now. Dressing quickly, he was glad to put on the suit that had turned into his job uniform.

He quickly rubbed Bear's ears and left towards the heliport. A new day was starting.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_New York, 34th street heliport, Friday 7:30 am_

As usual, Finch had taken care of everything. When Reese arrived at the heliport, he only needed to run the last security checks and he lifted up.

As soon as he was out of the city, he called Finch, who responded immediately.

"Mr. Reese, is everything all right?"

"Yes. Thank you for this baby, Finch. A real beauty. I hadn't realized you knew that much about flying machines."

"I can fly, Mr. Reese," Finch reminded him as if it explained it all.

"Finch, I need information on Bennett. Tell me what you found out; I cannot read and pilot at the same time."

When he arrived to Atlantic City, John knew enough about James Bennett to thoroughly hate the man. He was going to take him back to New York, willingly or not.

He landed on the helipad of the Golden Nugget Atlantic City, a huge casino spread over almost 15 acres. Finding Bennett wasn't going to be easy. But if Finch had been able to find him in a whole country, he could hardly complain at having to search a casino.

He made sure he could leave whenever he was ready and went inside the casino. The noise of the machines greeted him from the door. Whatever the place, casinos had all the same metallic sound. He strolled between the machines, as an anonymous guest.

It was still early. Only some die hard players or those betting their last coins before leaving were present. He didn't think Bennett would be around.

He touched his earwig.

"Finch, do you have Bennett's room number?"

"Give me a second, please." He heard the familiar clicking under Finch's fingers. "1241, Mr. Reese, in the west wing. Any idea on your action plan?"

"It's breakfast time, Finch," Reese answered a bit enigmatically.

Getting a jacket and apron was piece of cake.  _They really ought to check their security measures_ , Reese thought. He pushed the cart towards the room and knocked on the door.

"Just a second!" a voice answered.

John pulled his gun and covered it with a napkin on his forearm.

"Room service," Reese announced.

Bennett opened the door. "I didn't order anything."

"On the house," Reese explained as he pushed the cart against James.

Bennett stumbled but didn't fall and pushed the cart right back. Surprised by the swiftness of the reaction, John lost his gun. He pushed the cart away and jumped on Bennett. They started fighting, moving around the room, using any furniture as weapon or protection. Bennett knew how to fight, he'd give him that, but Reese was younger and had a past in the Special Forces. Not caring to soften his punches, which he knew could be deadly, he managed to push Bennett against a wall and knocked him out.

John tied the man to a chair then took a second to get his breath back. His body was still recovering from the ordeal of the previous day. He looked down to his waist. He had felt it when Bennett had hit him in the stomach, now he could see it. His wound was bleeding again. One of the drawbacks of the white shirts he favored, they betrayed the slightest scratch.

He went to the bathroom, came back with a wet towel and wrung it above Bennett's head. He came to coughing.

John sat in front of him, putting his gun by his side.

"I don't have any money," Bennett informed him.

"Highly doubtful, but that's not the point."

James frowned. "Who are you?"

_And again…_

"Mr. Bennett, I'm here to help you make a good action."

"You don't really look like the Salvation Army."

"You are right, I have been trained by another kind of army," Reese calmly explained as he slowly retrieved a knife hidden against his shin; he put it beside the gun.

Bennett paled, realizing the cold attitude of his visitor. The man was a killer. He had seen enough of them in his past to recognize them easily.

"Senator Pratt."

Bennett's face didn't flinch.

_So, that's where Caffrey got his talent from._

"Yes?"

Reese slowly shook his head. "Mr. Bennett…" he said disappointed. "You know I know, don't make things complicated."

He put his arm in his pocket and withdrew a silencer that he slowly attached to his Sig Sauer.

Bennett fought the bile in his throat.

"James… I can call you James, right? For the past thirty years, you have been leading a nice quiet life instead of rotting in a prison as you deserve. Time for payback has come."

"I benefited from the witness protection program because I helped arresting the Flynn family!"

"No. You were protected by Pratt who knew everything about you. And to make sure, he would keep his secret, you killed him."

"You cannot prove anything."

"About Pratt's murder? No, you are right. Which is why I am asking that you come forward and testify.

"Certainly not!"

"Mr. Bennett…" Reese sighed. He took the towel and started to wrung it tightly.

A wet towel could be quite a painful torture weapon. And from the fear that crossed Bennett's eyes, he knew it too. Reese hoped he would not need to go that far. The most effective pain was the one the prisoner imagined in his own mind. At that game, John had hours of experience.

"Thirty years ago, you left, leaving behind you a little boy who admired you more than anything else in the world. Because of you, he abandonned his house, forgot his name, lost his mom. Yet, he still admired you. Did you know he wanted to be a police officer like you? That he had been told you had died a hero?"

Bennett's face was as cold as marble. He didn't feel any remorse; his only regret with time had been not being able to see his son.

"Then, the little boy became an adult. And one day, he learned the truth. Can you imagine that? Dead hero one day, crooked cop –alive– the next one. That's a heavy truth to shoulder, even when you're not a little boy anymore."

John opened his jacket and removed two zip-ties. Bennett opened his eyes wide. His hands were bound behind his back, as well as his legs, what did the man need these for?

"And when finally, he made himself a new life, found a family, you reappear out of nowhere and destroy it all again. Do you have any excuse?"

Reese leaned forward and raised his voice, "do you really think your miserable little life justifies any of that?"

Bennett jumped. The man had talked in a low soft voice so far, the change of tone was downright frightening. If his calm gestures matched his voice, nothing good was about to happen.

"Mr. Bennett, as you've probably guessed by now, killing you won't be a problem. The question is now to determine if you think you've enjoyed your life enough that ending it here, today, in Atlantic City, is okay with you, or if you'd like to still enjoy some nice days, albeit with less freedom."

Reese rose and took his knife in one hand, the towel in the other one. He stood behind Bennett. He rolled the towel around Bennett's neck who reacted at the humidity. John started turning around the chair as a huge predator observing his prey before jumping. He took a napkin from the table and threw it in the air. As it came back down floating, John sliced it in two. Bennett moved back against his chair.

Having made his point about just how sharp the knife was, John kept his slow encircling crawl, then stopped behind the chair. In a swift movement, he cut the top of Bennett's jacket. James couldn't help a scream. John took a look at the brand.

"Armani… My employer might be upset at me for ruining such a nice piece. It's a good thing I'm not attached to my suits value." He bent to whisper on Bennett's ear, as if telling a secret, "as long as they fit."

Bennett shuddered. That man was mad. He had encountered dangerous men inside the Irish mob, but this stranger was made of ice. He wouldn't think twice before cutting him to pieces. But he hadn't been hiding for thirty years to give up now.

Reese stopped by his side and bent his head. "I see you haven't shaved yet…"

He brought the knife close to the cheek.

"I can pay you; double the contract!" James exclaimed.

"And here I thought you didn't have money…"

"Not with me, but I can transfer the money to any account you say."

"Why do you think you could buy me?"

"I never thought Neal would hire a mercenary, but I guess I do not know him that well."

"You really do not deserve him, you know? Can't believe a lowlife like you gave birth to a man like him. I guess getting him out of your way has only been beneficial."

"Triple…" Bennett promised.

"You really don't get it, do you, James? I guess I'll have to be more convincing."

In a few swift moves, Reese cut James jacket around his body. Bennett wriggled trying to get his hands free.

John shook his head clearly disappointed, then cut the buttons of the shirt one by one with his blade. He then opened it. The man wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"I see you've been enjoying the beach, nice tan…" John murmured as he slowly traced the skin with the knife.

James pushed against the back of the chair, but the pressure of the blade didn't lessen. John pushed harder and Bennett pushed back again, his ribs hurting against the chair. He swallowed hard. He couldn't move any further back and the blade kept pushing.

He let out a whimper, more of fright than pain, when he felt the skin breach under the knife, warm blood flowing on his skin.

"I already killed three men yesterday evening, and I'm not counting the ones in London earlier. You see, Mr. Bennett, my week has been quite busy. I really want to go home. Now, the only question is if I'll have a passenger."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "You're the only one who has the answer."

He pushed the knife stronger.

"Stop!" Bennett yelled. "All right, I'll testify. I killed Pratt, that's all he deserved.

"Good decision."

Reese shot him a dark stare, picked up his gun and cut the ties. "Don't even  _think_  about doing anything, Mr. Bennett."

Standing behind James, his gun against the man's back, Reese used the service elevator to leave the hotel and reach the helicopter. He zip tied his hands and feet, then sat on the pilot chair.

"I'm afraid I don't have earphones for you. Cover your ears if the noise bothers you."

He started the chopper and flew back to New York. He called Finch on the way.

"I have him, Finch. Call Carter. She needs to make a delivery at the courthouse."

"All right, Mr. Reese. I gather Mr. Bennett is willing to testify."

"It took some convincing, but we reached an agreement."

Finch didn't dare think what the convincing technique had been. He knew his employee's past, the less he knew about the details, the better he'd sleep.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_New York, Courthouse, Friday 10:30 am_

Diana was watching the courtroom; everybody had arrived now. Peter's lawyer was reading again and again the documents in front of her. To her defense, she had had very little time to consult them.

Diana's day had started quite early. At 6:00 am, a messenger had brought her a thick brown envelope. As soon as she had opened it, she had realized there were several elements there that could help Peter; nothing to clear him but enough evidence to undermine the prosecution.

She had rushed to the office, calling Jones to hurry up to meet her. Together, they had checked the documents. She didn't know which detective agency had worked on the file, or who had hired them, but all the elements were solid.

With little time to act, she had called Peter's lawyer, asking her to meet them at the café close to the FBI building. She didn't want Calloway to suspect anything. The lawyer had been overwhelmed by the evidence and for the first time started to feel some kind of hope.

Diana squinted her eyes, watching Caffrey. He seemed a little bit more relaxed than the previous days. His behaviour had been even more suspicious than usual. She knew he was worried for Peter, but she suspected there was something else. Yesterday, he had looked like he was carrying the whole world's misery upon his shoulders; she had kept a close watch on him all morning. Then, he had received a call that had seemed to relieve him. He had vanished in the men's room for a while, then had come back to his desk calmer, as sobered. And he had finally started working, for real this time. Caffrey and his neverending mysteries… He was bound to give them all ulcers.

For the moment, he was talking to Elizabeth, trying to cheer her up. Peter's wife didn't know about the last elements; Diana didn't want to give her false hopes.

Caffrey knew all about it, and Diana be damned if she managed to know how. She suspected he had conducted his own research. Yet, the only answer he gave her, after having been thoroughly interrogated, was to trust the people who had sent the information. He had even added, with pleading eyes, "please".

The Judge came in; Diana focused back on the case.

* * *

The prosecution had just finished interrogating the first witness, the expert from forensics. His testimony was agrieving, but they knew that and Peter's lawyer couldn't refute any part of it.

They would base their whole defense on agent Calloway's testimony and cross-examination. The DA had just finished interviewing the agent, charging Peter even more. Diana could see Elizabeth's face crumbling down, apparently loosing any hope she still had. Peter's lawyer rose, sure of herself, a slight smile on her lips.

"Agent Calloway, could you please let us know the provenance of the funds you received on July 25th 2012? $25,000, if I am not mistaken." She asked, not bothering with any preamble.

Agent Calloway seemed to lose some of her countenance.

"That question is totally irrelevant! We are not judging agent Calloway," the DA protested.

Turning to the Judge, the lawyer explained. "Your Honor, if you allow the witness to answer this question, you will realize its importance and relevance for my client."

The Judge seemed to hesitate a moment. Then his eyes caught sight of the man that had just entered the courtroom. He realized that after having helped him free his son, John was now helping the FBI agent. He made his decision.

"Agent Calloway, please answer the question."

The District Attorney was furious. "Your Honor, it looks like you don't want to send a criminal to prision, you─"

"Easy, or I'll have you charged for contempt of court. Mr. Dennis, watch your words!" The Judge exclaimed. He turned to Peter's lawyer. "Let's proceed."

The lawyer, satisfied by the squirmish, turned to the witness again.

"Agent Calloway, please answer the question."

"I don't recall," the witness mumbled.

"May I remind you that you are under oath?"

Forced to answer, agent Calloway sighed. "The money was given to me by Senator Pratt in payment of services."

"So you admit that you knew the Senator and that he gave you a large amount of money."

"That is totally irrelevant for the present case," the DA insisted, not liking where the cross-examination was leading.  _Where did they that information come from?_

"Please proceed, I want to see what your point is, attorney," the Judge replied.

The courtroom door opened suddenly. A heavy murmur went through the room. On the defense side, a wave of relief rippled.

The police officer who had just entered the room was leading James Bennett.

"Silence! Silence!" the Judge called, using his hammer on the table.

"Officer! Please identify yourself and would you care to explain why you interrupted a court in process?"

"Officer Carter, NYPD, your Honor, please forgive my intrusion. This man has just been arrested in South Manhattan; he corresponds to a wanted poster issued by the FBI. I remembered it was linked to the case you are judging today. This man is James Bennett; he is suspected of having been present on the crime scene on the day of Senator Pratt's murder. I thought it wise to bring him immediately."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness then, officer," the Judge answered.

He turned to the Defense attorney. "It looks like your key witness has made an appearance. Do you have any statement to make Mr. Bennett?"

Keeping his eyes on his son, James talked, clearly unwillingly, "I killed Senator Pratt, agent Burke is innocent."

The audience went wild. The Defense seemed to breathe again and a shy smile appeared on Elizabeth Burke's face.

"Silence, please!" The Judge used his hammer again, violently, to hush the courtroom.

He made a sign to the agents in the room.

"Officers, please arrest Mr. James Bennett. Mrs Wilder, Mr. Dennis, please follow me in my office. The session is suspended."

The people in the room waited anxiously for the return of the Judge and attorneys; the whispers creating quite a noise in the courtroom.

Taking advantage of the confusion, agent Calloway slipped away from the room. No one had seen the tall dark man disappear with a small satisfied smile on his lips.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

_NY Courthouse, Friday, 2:00 pm_

Neal was sitting on a step, arms crossed on his knees, head resting on his hands, trying to get his breath back. The wave of relief that had overwhelmed him had been so strong, he had felt dizzy.

A few minutes earlier, the judge's hammer had fallen, announcing Peter's innocence on all charges.

The wave of joy that had engulfed the courthouse had been like a giant tide wave. Elizabeth had run to Peter's arms to kiss him. Jones, Diana, Hughes had come to pat him in the back and congratulate him. Neal had felt like everyone present had run to Peter and he had been cast aside. He had crossed Peter's eyes, a bit overwhelmed himself by the crowd, and made a nod with his head indicating he would see him outside.

Then he had looked for a quiet place where to sit before his shaking legs gave out. He had found a stone stairwell on the side and had let himself drop on it.

Sara was safe at his place; his father was finally behind bars and Peter was free. Everything was back where it belonged. It felt like he had been caught in a tornado, then thrown to the ground.

A soft hand touched his shoulder. "You're okay, Neal?"

He'd remember that low voice for the rest of his life. John, the man to whom he owed it all. How did you thank the man that gave you your life back? He raised his head and looked at him with a serious face.

"Thank you."

Reese raised a corner of a lip, dismissing the thanks, as if he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary.

John looked exhausted, but after everything he had been through, it wasn't that surprising.

"How are you?" Neal asked. As Reese raised a surprised eyebrow, Neal gesture to his body, "your wounds?"

"I've been through worse, I'll be fine," the ex-agent answered.

"I don't doubt that," Neal whispered. "How can I ever thank you, John?"

Peter arrived at that moment with his mobile phone in hand. "So, this is where you're hiding," he exclaimed.

"I can't believe you used my anklet to find me!" Neal laughed. "I see that a few days in jail didn't change your habits."

He rose in a jump and hugged Peter. The agent hugged him back.

"We really should stop doing this," Peter said with a mock reproachful tone.

"What? Hugging?" Neal didn't have any qualms at showing his affection.

"No… scaring each other!"

Neal laughed out loud. "Your fault. If you hadn't decided to make my file a personal case eight years ago, we wouldn't be here."

John was watching them with a slight smile. The friendship between these two men was obvious. On some levels, it even looked stronger than the one between Neal and Mozzie. How could a former conman be closer to a cop than an associate?

Peter seemed to notice the tall man standing by his CI. He frowned; this man didn't look like Neal's usual contacts.

"You made some new friends while I was away?"

Neal stepped to the side to introduce the men. "Peter, this is John."

The stranger and Neal exchanged a glance with so much hidden meaning that Peter almost sighed. Two minutes out of jail, and Caffrey was already hiding something.

"Neal, what are you up to again?" the agent groused.

Caffrey answered with such an innocent stare that Reese couldn't help a smile. He was incredible; no doubt about it, as agent Burke had said, he was the best.

But Peter knew better than trust Neal's innocent looks and kept watching him until the man relented.

"John helped us with your case file."

"A bounty hunter? You're the one who found James?"

"Not exactly. But he did bring my father back… and Sara," Neal distractedly added, before opening his eyes wide realizing his misstep.

Peter didn't know about Sara and Neal hadn't decided yet if he was going to tell him about that part of the events. He might wonder why Sara was at Neal's place, but he absolutely didn't intend to talk about the treasure. That secret was still a heavy weight above them, no way he was letting Peter know.

"Sara?" Peter asked surprised. "Sara is in New York?"

Peter looked at Neal more closely. There were dark circles under his eyes, his body was weighted with tiredness. When his CI had come to visit him at the prison, he was tense and worried, but the way he looked now proved he had been through painful moments.

"Neal, what happened?"

"Long story…."

"And the short version?"

Neal sighed closing his eyes. "Keller," he said.

Seeing that Neal didn't seem more forthcoming, Peter had a smile, "and the slightly less abridged version?"

Neal reopened his eyes. He knew Peter wouldn't relent.

"Keller kidnapped Sara to blackmail me."

"What did he want?"

"It's complicated…"

"Your way of telling me I don't want to know?"

Neal winced and Peter shook his head. He'd let this one go; he knew hunting for Neal's secrets was never a good idea.

John was watching them in silence. The friendship between the agent and his informant was way beyond the usual relationship in this kind of partnership. No wonder the agent had sometimes stepped over the line. He doubted his relationship with Finch was anything close, though he truly liked his employer, more than any of his previous superiors, army included.

"John managed to save Sara, and…" Neal let his eyes wander, "Keller will not be a problem anymore."

Peter paled, and John thought it wise to add his own comment. "You shouldn't hear about him any time soon."

"Who are you?" Peter asked watching him closely, eyes squinting.

Neal couldn't help a little laugh and whispered to John, "Bet you hear that one a lot…"

John wiggled his eyebrows in connivance.

"Let's say I took care of your CI while you were… unavailable."

"Must have had your hands full…" Peter commented with sarcasm.

"It is indeed a full time job."

"On the other hand, he can be quite grateful," Peter joked. Reese raised a questioning eyebrow and the agent explained himself. "Neal never missed any of my birthdays. I have cards from all over the world, Champaign during stake outs…"

Neal moved his head from one man to the other dumbfounded. They barely knew each other, yet here they were clearly laughing at him.

"I've been meaning to ask you something. Did he leave a visit card after his robberies?" John asked.

Neal opened his mouth to complain, but Peter beat him to it.

"No, no visit card. He did sign his forgeries though, a slightly more modern version of the practice."

"It has only been proved on the bonds!" Neal defended himself. "And I was the one to tell you to look!"

Peter waved his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, yeah, we know. You have only been convicted once…"

The two men stared at each other in silence. Peter would carry on accusing him of all sorts of crimes and Neal would go on pleading his innocence; it had become some sort of game.

The agent decided to change the conversation.

"How is Sara doing?"

The loving expression that covered Neal's face went straight to John's heart. He would go back to London immediately to save her again; such a love had to be preserved.

"Better. She is a fighter," Neal whispered with a soft smile.

"So, you'll be taking her to the Empire State Building again?" Peter joked.

"Not without a safety harness!" Neal laughed.

Reese frowned trying to make sense of the exchange. Then he remembered Neal telling him they had launched the zeppelin from the 103rd floor. The access was restricted, but John had assumed that Neal had managed to dodge the security. The conversation between the two men reminded him who also was granted access to the tiny terrace.

"Wait a minute. You made a fake proposal to your ex-girlfriend?" Reese asked dumbfounded. That man was mad or unconscious… but it did reveal a lot about Sara too.

"Sara understood the situation," Neal explained.

"Still, accepting to go through that kind of scene… Only a very exceptional or very in love woman would do it."

A bright smile illuminated Neal's face. "Both, I'm hoping…"

"I'll go with you ring shopping," Peter informed him.

"What?" Neal spit back.

"Neal, I'm not letting you in a jewel store without a chaperon!"

Neal sent a pleading look to Reese, calling for help. The ex-agent only smiled.

"I guess everything is back to normal for you Neal." He extended his hand. "Take care of yourself. And congratulations!" He shook Peter's hand. "Agent Peter, it has been a pleasure."

He went down the steps and disappeared in the crowd.

Peter opened his mouth to ask for explanations on the stranger, then decided against it. With time, he had come to some sort of compromise about Neal's secrets. Digging too deep was never a good idea.

The two men went to the cars where Elizabeth, Jones and Diana were waiting. Peter was going back home with Elizabeth, while Jones and Diana were going back to the office.

"Neal, you need a lift?"

"Peter, if that's okay with you, I'd like to go home. I need to process all this." He pointed to his ankle. "You know where to find me."

The agents nodded. They could perfectly understand that Neal needed some time alone. Bennett's unexpected arrival had been like an explosion inside the courthouse. Everyone had been quite shaken up.

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

With a relieved smile on his lips, Neal was walking home, enjoying, for real this time, the streets of New York. Suddenly he felt a hard shove on his back.

"Get to the alley, Caffrey, don't resist," a voice he recognize easily ordered him.

 _Calloway._  And from her tone, she didn't just want to have a friendly conversation.

Neal walked slowly towards a narrow street between two buildings. They were hidden from view by huge trash containers. So John's source was actually right. He was indeed in danger. Too bad, the real threat appeared when both him and Shaw were not around anymore.

John had left after wishing him luck; as for Shaw she had probably been relieved of her baby-sitting duties. He couldn't believe he had escaped Keller and a night shoot out, to die between garbage cans in the middle of the day.

The only solace was that the people he cared for were safe. Come to think of it, the precautions he had taken before going to the meeting with Keller would prove useful.

Feeling strangely calm despite the situation, he turned to his superior.

"Agent Calloway. I would have thought you were already leaving the country…"

"Shut up, Caffrey," she answered dryly. "You think you can get away with it? Your family destroyed mine! First your father's partner relentlessness forced my father to commit suicide when he realized there was evidence against him. I lost my father and my mother whithered away after his death. Then Senator Pratt got me into this to stop agent Burke's investigation…"

"You could have said no to Pratt the very first time," Neal cut her. "Unless… he had leverage of course…"

Neal saw Calloway's face pale. He was right.

"A youngster mistake with a married senator, which of course he held against me," she answered with a scowl.

She was on a roll, she went on with her complaints. "Then you undermine my testimony at the courthouse to save your friend, ruining my career in the process. And to top it all your father comes forward to give his own version of the facts."

"That's not my doing.  _I_  didn't bring my father in. The police officer only did his duty by arresting him and bringing him to the Judge."

" _Today!_  Come on Caffrey, I'm no fool. You had it all prepared beforehand!"

"You're incoherent Calloway. The only thing I see is that justice has prevailed. Peter Burke was innocent. You, your father, mine, Pratt, you're only paying for your wrong doings," Neal concluded.

Calloway gripped her gun tighter. Neal understood that she wasn't listening, nothing he could say would change her point of view. She was thirsty for revenge, and he was the ideal candidate.

Neal closed his eyes, ready to die. After the days he had gone through, ending his life shot by an FBI agent was almost ironic…

He heard a silenced shot, very close to him, then the thud of a body droping to the ground.

Opening his eyes, he saw his guardian angel by his side.

"Neal, you're a real trouble magnet!" John exclaimed putting his gun away.

"How… how did you know?" Neal stammered, dazed by the sudden appearance.

"When I parted with you and Peter, I didn't wander very far. Call it a hunch. I followed you when you left toward your place. You were so lost in your own thoughts you didn't notice you were being followed, by me of course, but also by agent Calloway. When she led you to this street, I waited to be sure of her intentions. When it was clear she had made her decision…" John shrugged. "I mean, I went all the way to London to bring back the woman of your life, I wasn't going to let her ruin everything."

"I really don't know how to thank you John. You saved Sara, Peter, me… twice. I'll owe you for the rest of my life." Neal went on, "John, if you ever need anything, anytime, I'll always be there."

"No problem, Neal. You don't owe me anything. Enjoy your life, be happy. Stay out of trouble, that will be more than enough."

They heard an engine approaching and a truck backed-up in the alley. Shaw came around and opened the back door.

"Another body, John? You're lapsing…" she said with a smile in her voice.

The tall man didn't bother with an answer and went to retrieve the corpse. Shaw left as quietly as she had arrived.

John turned to Neal. "I think you can go home now."

Neal nodded and went back on the main street. He turned around one last time to watch the man he owed so much. He probably would never see him again. He waved good bye and lost himself among the pedestrians.

_TBC_

* * *

N/A: Everything is back to normal in the White Collar world. Reese deserves some rest now, doesn't he?

Stay tuned…


	10. Chapter 10

A/N. And now the end is near…

More of an epilogue, than a real chapter, actually.

I wanted to thank all of you for supporting and following us during this adventure. We're glad you enjoyed the ride.

Thank you for the comments and kudos.

 

On now, I'll let you read the last chapter ;-)

* * *

Chapter 10 - Epilogue

* * *

_Finch's library, Friday 5:00 pm_

Finch was in front of the glass wall, removing the pictures and information.

Reese remembered some of Harold's research.

"By the way, did you find out anything about Mozzie?"

"I did," was Finch's short answer.

John waited for more information, but the genius didn't seem very forthcoming. If anyone could understand Mozzie's desire for anonymity, Finch was first in line, still the ex-agent couldn't help feeling curious.

"I deleted all traces of his past. He had already done a wonderful job…" Finch seemed to hesitate, then carried on. "I also found some information I'm sure he didn't have. I haven't been able to decide if I should give them to him or not."

"What did you do?" John asked. He could tell Finch wasn't telling him the whole story.

"I gave him an encrypted flash drive. If he manages to read it, he'll have information on his parents." Harold turned to John. "Mozzie told me that as a kid he had imagined his parents were spies and had left him for his own protection."

"Every orphan tries to find an explanation to the reason why their parents left. His passion for conspiracies comes from the same coping mechanism."

"Except that he wasn't totally wrong."

"You mean, his parents were actually spies? Did you find them?"

"Unfortunately, they are both dead in the line of duty. I didn't want to inflict that pain on Mozzie. Actually, I'm hoping he doesn't manage to read that drive," Finch concluded with a dark face, as if suddenly regretting giving Mozzie the drive.

What secret past did Finch hide that made him understand Mozzie so well? As time went on, John was starting to think that he would never know the truth about his employer. However, for now, the case was closed and he really wanted to go home and rest.

"Finch, I'm calling it a day. I think my body deserves some rest," John announced.

"Yes, of course. Don't come in tomorrow," Finch answered. He looked more closely at his employee. "You do look exhausted."

"Thanks. Call me if a number comes up," John said as he went to the door. He scratched Bear's ear. "I'll come get Bear for a walk tomorrow."

* * *

PoI – WC – PoI – WC – PoI

* * *

When he got back to the loft, John directly went under the shower. The hot water felt wonderful on his sore muscles. His back was still very painful; the glass shards had left cuts everywhere. He would need to ask Finch to have a look; in the mirror he could see that some cuts were bleeding again after the shower. Finch would take care of him, silently, his tight mouth expressing his displeasure but mostly reproaching John to put himself in danger. John didn't enjoy pain, but his past, first in the military then in the secret services, had put him in the front line many times. Apparently you got used to anything with time, including not feeling the pain any longer.

He checked his injuries left by the different encounters. The strangulation traces on his neck would soon be gone. The knife cut on his arm was shallow. It had already started healing nicely. He disinfected and bandaged the wound in a few minutes. The wound on his side was more serious, although he had been through worse. It would have needed some stitches, but it was too late now. He put new butterflies and covered the injury with a Hydrofoil to help healing.

Bare footed, dressed with an old jean and a black t-shirt, John went to the living-room, grabbing a beer in the fridge. He was suddenly conscious of the silence of his place.

These last days, he had been around people quite a lot. The vivid conversations between Neal and Mozzie, the love in agent Burke's eyes when he had kissed his wife, the real friendship among the colleagues and friends at the courthouse. As for Neal and Sara's relationship… They were meant to be together. John really hoped they would go on with their life together.

Nothing like it for him. He had had his chance with Jessica. Then September 11 and the CIA had destroyed all his hopes. Who would want of a man like him? He wasn't allowed to have a normal life. There were far too many bodies behind him, far too many shadows lurking. He couldn't put a woman he loved in danger. Not that he needed to worry too much about that. He wasn't immortal and since he had started working for Finch, he had faced death more than once. His luck would turn one day.

_John, stop being so dark…_

He started thinking on what to do with his evening. He was indeed tired, but it was still early. He could at least go out and have dinner. Although, sitting alone at a table would only bring back his solitary thoughts.

Suddenly a face came to his mind.

 _Zoe_.

He hadn't even called her to thank her for her involvement on agent Burke's file. He was about to dial her number when he decided to drop by instead. She wouldn't be home probably. A woman like her was bound to have more invitations than she could accept. Well, at least, he would take a walk.

The fresh air of the evening was nice and after a few minutes of walk, he found a new bounce in his steps. As he was nearing Zoe's house, he noticed a licor store. He wouldn't be arriving empty handed. He chose a bottle of whiskey, which reminded him of their poker nights in the suburbs. He also purchased a bottle of good Burgundy, a wine he had discovered during one of his trips to France. The wine was actually the only good memory of that particular mission.

Once at the foot of the stairs leading to the door, he remembered his words to Finch after his first day with Zoe.  _Who wouldn't?_  That day he had already mused that dating a woman like Zoe was probably something he'd love to do.

He knocked on the door, not knowing how his visit would be greeted. He heard a swear word, then feet running to the door.

"About time, Mark! I thought…" Zoe stopped short when she saw John on her doorstep.

"John! What a surprise," Zoe exclaimed astonished by the unexpected visitor.

"Good or bad? You were apparently expecting somebody… Mark?" John answered slightly disappointed.

"Yes, Mark. He's just the neighbor. He was supposed to help me move some furniture. I needed his help. But, please, come in. Make yourself at home, I'll be right back."

Zoe closed the door and rushed to another room.

John entered the apartment and looked around him; no pictures, no personal object hinting at hobbies or close ones. It looked like his place. They were so alike in so many aspects.

Zoe came back a few minutes later. Her hair was hold with a hairgrip, but some strands were loose around her face.

"John…" She stopped wondering what to make of the visit.

John handed her the bag with the bottles.

"I wanted to thank you personnaly for the help on agent Burke's case."

"You're welcome. I saw he's been cleared of all charges." She hesitated a minute. "And… the other case you were on?" She didn't dare asking, she knew she would probably get no answer.

"Everything is fine," John summed up.

Zoe invited him toward the couch and put the bottles on the coffee table, raising a knowing eyebrow when she saw the labels.

"So, you're redecorating?" John asked.

"Not really. I just wanted to move the dresser in my bedroom and push that buffet closer to the wall," she said pointing to the furniture with her head.

"Can I replace Mark?"

"Well, yes. You certainly can," Zoe answered letting her eyes roam over the tall body.

With some efforts, John managed to move the furniture following Zoe's indications. He couldn't help a pained frown when his injuries complained about the unexpected exercice.

"Thank you so much, John. I realize you have many talents," she said with an amused smile.

She still couldn't figure why he had come to her place. Just to thank her? If the news she had gotten about agent Burke was right, the information she had given had been secondary. He could have just called, instead of coming over with two excellent bottles. She dared hope there was more to his visit. She'd try to keep him for a while. Spending some time alone with him was something she was looking forward to. Maybe too much, actually.

"John do you have time to grab a bite with me?" she asked hoping he would say yes.

"Yes, that would be nice," John answered with a gorgeous smile.

He followed her to the kitchen.

"John, as you probably figured, I'm not a great cook", Zoe commented opening her fridge. "What about a salad and some smoked salmon on toasts?"

"Perfect."

Zoe was astonished by how easily John made himself at home in the kitchen; toasting the bread, opening the cupboards to set the table. Who would believe he held a gun everyday?

Dinner was ready in minutes and they sat facing each other. John thanked her again for her help. Then the conversation went on, talking was always easy. Suddenly Zoe's face went taut.

"Zoe? Something wrong?" John asked, worried by the abrupt change.

"Would you care to explain why there is blood on your arm? Are you hurt? Show me," Zoe carried on, rising to come by his side.

"Nothing to worry about. I was injured during my last job. I guess pushing that furniture must have opened the wound," John explained calmly. "I you have some bandages, I'll fix that in a second."

"How do you explain your t-shirt is all stained… with blood!" Zoe exclaimed watching his back in horror. "John! Why didn't you say so when I asked for your help? You could have said no."

"Zoe, really, it's nothing," John waved the concern. "Forget about it."

"Oh no. That's not gonna happen! Get up. Take that corridor, straight to the bathroom. Last door on the left. Remove any clothes that would prevent me from treating your injuries. I'll be with you in a second," Zoe ordered in a voice that didn't allow for discussion.

While John was going to the bathroom, a bit confused at getting bossed around… and obeying without uttering a comment, Zoe took two minutes to go over her words. Apparently, she had just ordered a man she dreamed to get in her bed to drop his clothes for her. She felt she was heading in a dangerous direction, still she went to meet him.

She wasn't ready for the sight. John was waiting by the door, chest naked. She was drawn by two blue intense pupils, fixing her… with desire she liked to think. What was she doing?

Seing the injuries covered with bandages brought her back to the situation. Two wounds, one on the arm, one on his side. She could also see red marks on his neck.

"It really looks worse than it is, Zoe. Nothing serious," John explained again seing Zoe's face scrunching as she inspected the damage.

Actually, he didn't feel uncomfortable at all despite the stare. Maybe because it was Zoe.

"Turn around," Zoe whispered, moving her finger in a circle.

John turned slowly, giving Zoe all the time she needed to realize his back was covered in tiny cuts, some of which were probably bleeding again.

"Care to explain?" Zoe asked in a crisp voice, hiding her contradictory feelings in a dry tone.

She was half mad with anger against the person responsible for those wounds and half wanting to cuddle him in her arms to comfort him.

"Let's say a close encounter with a glass wall," John explained with a slight wince.

"Sure… more like going right through it."

John's slight shrug confirmed her assumption.

"I'm sorry to ask you, but you should remove your pants and get under the shower so I can clean the dried blood."

_What are you doing, Zoe? First his t-shirt, now his pants…._

To her surprise, John complied silently, and entered the shower without a glance.

Zoe removed her sweat pants ─her t-shirt covered her mid-tights─, and followed John into the shower. He had turned the water on. She was worried about the side injury but discovered it was covered by a film. She took a soft sponge, got it thoroughly wet and started cleaning each cut carefully.

John didn't move or utter a word. She could see the muscles move as she worked on his back, the skin shivering when she brushed a more sensitive wound.

He seemed quite unfazed, but she could feel her own body temperature rising. She imagined her fingers replace the sponge, lovingly brushing the rest of his body.  _Zoe, get a grip!_

She had finished cleaning his back. She was about to tell him she was done when an older scar caught her attention. Getting closer she discovered older wounds.

Suddenly, her hands took over her brain. She briefly registered the plop of the sponge on the tiles and her fingers went to the scars.

John flinched when he understood Zoe was now using her hands to go over his body. Keeping control had been hard but manageable so far; if she kept on, his self control wouldn't be able to take it.

Zoe knew she had gone too far, but she wasn't in control anymore. Her hand brushed a scar on his left shoulder softly.

To her surprise, John explained in a low voice. "Irak, sniper missed his target."

Her fingers, light as a feather, moved to the middle of his back, puffy lacerations on a small surface.

"Afghanistan, too close to a bomb."

Zoe stopped her finger on two scars further down his back, one up along his spine, the other crisscrossing from one hip to the other. She let her fingers slowly follow the stitches.

"Taliban jail; came home with a broken vertebra and a damaged pelvis. Took weeks of hospital and rehab."

Zoe didn't know what to think about it. She knew he took risks, but this was… Only an ex-military could wear that kind of wounds. He had sort of admitted it when he had mentioned the sniper. And she had only seen his back…

John hadn't stopped her so far. She assumed he must have enjoyed the attention. To hell with hesitations.

She got on her tiptoes and whispered in his hear.

"Turn around."

This time John didn't obey immediately, wondering if he had heard right.

Thinking she had misunderstood, Zoe started to turn back but a soft and strong hand stopped her; she had never been that close to those steel blue eyes that made her dream.

John's eyes watched her with a softness she had never seen in him. He looked at her as if she was one of the world wonders. She smiled back.

John's hand removed the hairgrip, and his fingers untangled the locks carefully. Then he approached his face, slowly, giving her time to change her mind. He cuped her face and their lips finally met. They kissed softly, tenderly, discovering each other.

John stepped back, a smile on his lips. Playfully, he turned her around under the water spray. In a few seconds they were both drenched.

With an impish smile, he said, "It's time to get things even."

In a fluid movement, he grabed the hem of Zoe's t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

He remained still, admiring the beautiful body … She was even more gorgeous than he had imagined. He wrapped his arms around her, bent his face toward her, smiling before kissing her lips. He didn't know what the future held, but he was going to enjoy every single minute of this evening.

The End

* * *

A/N. We'll let John and Neal go on with their lives.

Thanks again for following us, please let us know what you thought of this story!


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